Pages Torn from the Book of Love
by Orlissa
Summary: My take on the 30 Day Skyeward Smut Challange - do I need to say more?
1. The Upside of SHIELD SUV's

**A/N:** I'm finally done with my translation, and I'm on a break for a week and a half, so I have time to write! This also means that I can finally join the Skyeward Smut Challenge, posting steamy stories for a whole month :) I've decided to start with all the smut prompts I have for my picture drabbles, then take a look at the original prompt list for the challenge – but I'm also open to suggestions :) I'm pretty sure I won't be able to finish it in 30 days, but I'll try – and I'll also try to get some progress done with the picture drabbles as well. So, without further ado – let the steamy fun begin! :D

* * *

 **The Upside of S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV's**

He's trying to be a gentleman here – he really is. He bought her flowers, and put on a tie (one that doesn't scream "government agent here"), made reservations at a nice place, and he even pulled the chair out for her – trying to give her the first date she deserves. He can't help it if Skye's making it absolutely impossible.

Because she is just so effortlessly sexy – she isn't doing anything extraordinary, she is just sitting there at the other side of the table, opposite of him, laughing at one of his so called jokes that feels lame even to him, and all he can think of is whether her lips would be as sweet as the cake she ordered for dessert, or sweeter than that if he kissed her? Would she moan into his mouth? Grab his neck, slid her fingers into his hair? Would she object if he slipped his hands under her dress, or picked her up, crushing her body into his?

And these kinds of thoughts are seriously damaging his ability of witty conversation.

(Because the tip of her pink tongue just poked out from between her lips, and now he can't think of anything else other than her running that tongue down his neck and–)

He shakes himself. Well, mentally, at least. He has to pay attention to her.

…Meaning what she is actually saying – because she is saying something –, not her different body parts and what he'd like to do to them. (Heavens, he used to be good at multitasking.)

With some effort, he actually manages to focus on what she is saying – it's some story about a bakery she used to park next to back in her van days, which had pastries almost as good as she is having now. She actually puts a piece on her fork, and offers it to him, because _Ward, this is divine, you have to try this!_ And so he leans over the table and taking her wrist in his hand (her skin is soft and warm and he wants more of it), he guides the bite into his mouth. (He has to give it to her – it really is good.)

Feeling obliged to reciprocate the gesture, he takes a bite-sized piece of his own dessert, and holds it out for her to take. Her eyes sparkling, and with a hint of a mischievous smile at the corner of her mouth, she rises a little from her chair, leaning in – offering him a view of her décolletage –, then wraps her lips around the piece of chocolate-y delight, her eyes fluttering closed and a soft, pleasure-fueled moan escaping from her throat (the sexual subtext is not lost to him).

After that – after seeing her lick off the speck of chocolate sauce from her upper lip – he is having an even harder time focusing on the conversation.

But it seems like he is not the only one with that problem – for the next moment there is a bare foot trailing along teasingly, torturingly, along his calf.

He freezes and looks up at Skye – who is looking at him with more than a touch of seductiveness in her eyes.

"I'm full – what do you say we get out of here?"

He is sure he has never been in a greater hurry to get out of a restaurant before.

On their way out, he sneaks a hand around her waist, slipping it lower and lower, past the point of being decent, until he can squeeze her ass. She doesn't jump or freeze or even look at him, only pulls herself closer to him, puts her own arm around his waist, and slips her hand into his pocket, drawing little spirals into the juncture of his thigh through the thin lining.

She is definitely going to be a death of him.

All the way back to the car, he is contemplating the shortest route back to the base, and then the fastest and quietest way to his – or her, he's not picky – bunk, because he is well too aware of the fact that he just simply needs to have her, the sooner the better, or the world will end.

He has an inkling that she would agree with him on this topic.

Correction: he is absolutely sure she agrees with him, because the moment they get to the car, and he is just about to open the door for her, she roughly grabs his tie, and pulls him down to her level – and the next moment her lips are on his.

There is nothing decent in the way she is kissing him – her tongue slipping into his mouth, seeking his, then taking his lower lip between her teeth, pulling at it playfully. Her hands are sliding down his arms and back, until she has her palms on his ass, pulling him closer still, their bodies flush against together.

He is not complaining at all.

He has been trained to respond quickly to every situation, so that's what he does. He slides one hand into her locks, pulling at them and turning her head in a way that gives him batter access. The other hand slides down to her leg, grabbing her thigh and pulling it up against his hip, until his hardness is pressed roughly against the raging fire in her core and she moans into his mouth.

Then she is pulling away.

"Backseat, now," she says, breathless, her words coming out almost like a command.

He finds himself _liking_ her giving commands.

The next moment the back door of the car is open, and she is already climbing in, pulling him with her. Once the door is closed behind them with an insistent thud, he wastes no time – he is pushing his hand under her skirt, between her legs, pulling and ripping her panties off.

He needs to feel her.

She is wet and warm and needy; two fingers slip into her core effortlessly as she clenches her legs, seeking more friction, trapping his hand. She throws her head back and moans loudly, one hand clawing at the leather interior of the car (Coulson will flip when he'll see the scratches, a nagging little voice says on the margin of his mind), while the other grabs his wrist, trying to urge him to go faster, harder.

Then she is kissing him again – or is it him kissing her? He is not sure anymore –, with such a passion it is taking his breath away, and then she is nibbling on his ear, whispering to him, her voice a hoarse moan, "I need more… I need you…"

As much as he wants to be naked and wants her to be naked, to feel every single inch of her against him, he is too aroused and ready to combust to care about such trivial things like undressing right now. So he simply rips off what's left of her panties, and hurriedly – his hand slipping on the buckle – gets rid of his belt and pulls him pants just down enough to free his aching, hard member.

The next moment – not wasting a single second – she is already throwing her leg over his (if there is one thing to be said about S.H.I.E.L.D. SVU's, it's that they are roomy), straddling him, and, placing a hand over his to steady his cock, she is sinking down on him.

He can't help the loud grunt that escapes from his lips as he is being enveloped in her warmth.

It's a frenzied, passionate affair – no time or patience for little games and teasing and taking it slow. She is gyrating her hips over him in a frantic pace, while he thrusts into her wildly, making her boobs shake, while squeezing her ass, his hands under her skirt. They can't really find the perfect rhythm, but they still fit together perfectly, chasing pleasure. Her lips finds his again in the primal dance, licking and biting and demanding, her hands on his face and neck and shoulders, while he reaches down between them, and rubs her clit furiously, making her shiver and moan.

They don't last long; soon enough, she is coming, her walls pulsating around him and her whole body going rigid, her back arching. He has to put his hand on her mouth to muffle her screams (she bits into his palm, but he just can't shake off the feeling of pride, because damn, he _made her scream_ ). It's enough to push him over the edge, too, and with her still spasming around him, he is there, too, shooting his seed into her in hot spurts.

Spent and sweaty and disheveled, their juices mixing and sticky between them, she collapses on top of him, breathing heavily. He, too, is too tired to move – he simply puts his arms around her slight form, caressing her still clothed back. She nuzzles her face against his neck (his tie loosened and his top two buttons somehow came undone during their encounter), sighing happily, her breath warm on his skin.

"You know…" she says after a while in a whisper, her lips brushing against his neck. "Maybe next time we should book a room for the night."

He couldn't agree more.


	2. Hot and Cold

**A/N:** My second piece for the Skyeward Smut Challenge :) Sorry it took so long - it run a little long, and I've been battling a headache these last few days that kinda hindered my writing ability :/ But here it is now, and I hope you'll find it delightfully steamy :) Anyways, I'm still open to prompts as far as the smut challenge and the picture drabbles are concerned :) Continuation of Command and Obey.

 **Hot and Cold**

Skye has never thought that one day she would be blindfolded, tied to a bed, completely naked, and she would feel absolutely safe.

But now here she is.

"Is it okay?" he asks, checking her bonds. "Comfortable?"

"Completely." And it really is – the silk scarves that Grant produced from somewhere and used to tie her wrists to the bedpost are amazingly soft, and they are not that tight to begin with; she could easily break free if she wanted.

"Safe word?"

She smirks.

"Manscaping."

There's a low chuckle above her.

"I wish you wouldn't use that."

"Yeah, well, you can't have everything." She can barely keep herself from sticking her tongue out at him. There's another chuckle, then his lips are on hers, kissing her softly, but only briefly, and then they're gone.

"I'll be back in a moment," he tells her, and the she can feel the mattress dip as he climbs off the bed. Soft footsteps – bare feet on the hardwood floor –, a little creak – the door opens –, and finally a soft thud – the door closes –, and she is alone. She lets out a sigh.

It's amazing how, temporally blinded, her other senses are already heightened. She is hyper aware of the sheets under her bare back and thighs, the way the silk feels under her fingertips as she clutches at her bonds, and every little sound around her, from the faint voices outside of the room, to the soft humming of the lamp on the bedside table next to her – not to mention the vibrations all around her.

Other than helping her undress and tie her to the bed, he hasn't even really touched her yet, and yet here she is, needy and aroused and barely able to wait for his return.

One night, not a long time ago, she asked him if he wanted to play a game – he said yes. She forbade him to touch her, but did everything he told her to do; she sucked him and played with herself and then rode him until they both reached the peak of ecstasy. Tonight, he asked her if she trusted him – she said yes, without a moment's hesitation. Then he kissed her, and told her he wanted her naked, tied up and blindfolded, completely at his mercy – so he could worship her properly. She said yes, without hesitation.

And now she is here, and she can't wait for the fun to start.

The door opens again, and her muscles go rigid right away, starving for his touch. She can hear him as he steps into the room and walks to the bed, placing something on the bedside table – he must have been preparing for this.

"What is it?" she asks, raising her head and turning towards him as if she could see him. There's that amused chuckle again.

"You'll see," he answers, placing a palm on her face, his thumb caressing the corner of her mouth. "Just relax; you are going to enjoy this."

And with that he's withdrawing, moving away, and she lets out a whimper; she doesn't want him away – she wants him close, on top of her, between her legs, _inside of her_ …

There's a soft click, as if a bottle of lotion was popped open, and some herbal scent fills that air. She takes a deep breath through her nose, inhaling it in; it's pleasant, a little bit sweet, a little bit flowery. She can't exactly place it, but she reckons it is mostly likely some kind of lotion or massage oil.

She bites into her lower lip in anticipation.

She feels him move down the bed, near to her feet, and she instinctively spreads her legs for him – then she can almost see his smirk as he takes one of her feet into his hands.

"Eager, are we?" he asks, teasingly, kissing the dome of her foot, the tip of his tongue drawing a line on the delicate skin, starting from the base of her toes to her ankle. She gasps.

"Wouldn't you be?" she asks, and when she doesn't get an answer, only a kiss on her ankle, she adds, "What evil plans do you have up in your sleeve?"

He places the foot in his lap, and then she hears as he squeezes some of the scented lotion into his palm.

"I thought I'd start with a little massage – as you have been so wound up lately," he tells her as he takes her calf into his hand, and starts kneading the muscles there, working the oil or lotion or whatever into her flesh.

She can't stop the soft moan escaping her lips; his hands are working magic on her, his fingertips digging into her with just the right amount of pressure, working out the stiffness left behind by training and the mission from the day before (she haven't even realized until now how sore she was). He works his way down from the juncture of her knee slowly, down to her ankle and then to the arch of her foot, finding the most sensitive parts, and playing her like a master musician playing his instrument. He does this with her right leg first, then switching to her left; by the time he's done with that, and is kissing her knee, her foot still in his hands, playing with her toes, she is completely relaxed and wound up at the same time. Her tired muscles are loosened, humming happily, but she can feel her arousal growing.

It's maddening; he has barely touched her yet and she is already on the brink of begging. She swallows the moan that is about to leave her lips.

"That was a really great entrée," she tells him, trying to sound flirty, cheeky, "but now I hope we are moving to the main course." Because she just can't take it if he keeps simply massaging her – his touch is too much, yet not enough.

"Something like that," he answers with some almost sexual amusement in his voice. She licks her lips, and knows, simply knows that he didn't miss it. She can almost see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

He moves higher on the mattress, trailing his hand along her body, starting from her knee, following the contour of her thigh and hips and waist, until the underside of her breast; she sighs impatiently.

She can feel him reach for something on the bedside table again, and the next moment a new scent fills the room, something that was only a faint undertone until then, but now it dominates her sense of smell. Something sweet, something rich…

"Is that honey?" she asks.

"Exactly," he answers, and the next moment his finger, coated in the sweet, sticky substance, is on her lips, tracing their outline. Her tongue darts out, wrapping around his finger, licking the honey off; its taste is as sweet as its scent, and it has been warmed up as well – it's pleasantly hot and almost liquid, a drop running down her chin before Grant catches it, and brings it back to her eager tongue.

She has in inkling what he is planning for her now.

And yes – the next moment she can feel the hot drops on the delicate skin on her neck, as Grant drizzles honey on her; down her throat, between her breasts, around her navel, and down, down, drawing a line between her hipbones, stopping just above where she wants him the most. She lets out a little sigh; it feels nice, the warm honey on her skin, running down slowly on her body, contrasting with the slightly cool air of the room.

"It's all very nice," she starts, licking her lips once again the clean of the last of the lingering sweetness, "but I really hope you are not planning on leaving me all… ah!" Her sentence ends in a moan as he leans in, and places his mouth on her neck, right where the honey starts. He licks and sucks and nibbles, his lips cleaning up the warm stickiness, and leaving goosebumps – and possibly hickies – in their wake.

"Don't worry," she hears him say from somewhere between her breasts, "I'm not about to ruin the sheets." She can practically hear the grin in his voice.

Cheeky bastard.

Not that she can tell him that, because the next moment his tongue is on her again, drawing a line along her sternum, and then circling her belly button, and all she can think of is that she wants more – only he's being cruel, and he touches her everywhere but her most sensitive areas. Soon enough he is licking up the last of the honey from between her hips (close enough to her core that she can feel his breath on her mound, but still nowhere near enough), making her pant and clench her legs together, desperate to relieve some of the pressure building there.

"I wish I have thought of that," she says a little breathlessly as he lifts his head from her. "Although maybe not with honey – I'm more of a chocolate girl." She is trying to sound flirty, but failing remarkably – the thought of the her licking chocolate sauce off of Grant, tracing every ridge and valley of his sculpted body with her tongue causes another wave of arousal wash over her, and makes her mouth dry.

Gosh, she needs him to kiss her…

"Well, there's always tomorrow," he tells her, and then she can feel him climb over her, supporting his weight above her, his hardness, pressing against his boxers, just brushing against her core, teasing her. And then his mouth is on hers (here comes her kiss; as if he could read her mind), his tongue thrusting into the cavern of her mouth mercilessly; she can feel the sweetness of the honey on his lips and tongue, and the thought that it was on her body only seconds ago somehow makes the whole act even more erotic.

But then he is pulling away way too soon.

"But it's still my night," he tells her as he climbs off her, the heat of his body gone. "But don't worry," he says, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he picks up yet another thing to tease and torture her with from the bedside table, "the best is yet to come."

She wants to retort – say that he's better deliver –, or beg to do it already – honestly, it's a toss up by now –, but the words die on her lips, and the next moment she finds herself screaming.

Like actually screaming in ecstasy – because he brushes something ice cold against her nipple, making it harden right away, and it's just too much. Her body is humming, and it's heated from the honey and his ministrations, and the sudden change in temperature is shocking and intense and she loves it.

But then he is pulling it away.

"Is it okay?" he asks, sounding a little bit unsure; he must not have expected such a violent reaction from her.

"Yes, yes!" she cries. Her voice is husky and desperate; she barely recognizes it. "Don't you dare to stop!"

It seem like it's the only encouragement he needs – the next moment the ice is back on her, circling her nipple, and then he brings it down the arch of her breast, just to slid it up to the other the next moment, and treat her other nipple the same way. All the way she is moaning and crying and clenching and unclenching her legs – she is sure she is dripping on the sheets by now –, but she couldn't care less.

She wants more.

He lifts the ice cube for a moment, then runs it down her neck from her jaw to the juncture of her shoulder. She sighs and whimpers and says "Please…"

"I wish you could see yourself right now," he says then, his voice low and deep. "You look… _ravishing_ ," he goes on as he slides the ice cube down her body. "The way your swollen lips slightly part… heavens, I love the sound of my name on your lips…" just to emphasize this, he kisses her briefly. "And your breast… I love them. I love how to round and perky and perfect they are, and how they fit into my palms…" The ice is on her breast again, tracing its outline, and her breathing hitches. "And the nipples… I love watching how they harden, and then see you go breathless…" By then, the ice is below her belly butting, leaving a cold trail of wetness on her skin, making her feel like combusting. "Have you realized that you always bury your fingers in my hair when I suck on them, or when I go down on you? Pressing me closer, encouraging me, as if your begging wasn't enough? Because I have. And Skye, never stop doing that…"

The ice dips just between her lips, and she gasps, her back arching, throwing her head back. He pulls away momentarily, and it's enough for her to find her voice, even if only for a moment.

"Less talking, and…" Honestly, she has no idea what she could say; her mind is too focused on all the sensations her body is experiencing to deal with wittiness. "Put your mouth to a better use!" she commands in the end.

"As you wish," he answers promptly, and then delivers; he slides down her body, his hot breath caressing her abdomen, and then he is spreading her legs, and…

She finds herself screaming his name again.

Because the next moment his lips are on her, and his tongue is plunging into her core, but he has the ice in his mouth, and it's cold and hot at the same time, and it's maddening and it's intense and it's heavenly, and he is eating her out, hitting all the spots he knows all too well, but the ice is giving him an extra edge, and it's too much, it's just too much, and then he is sucking on her clit, and a finger – long and slender and warm – slips inside her, and, and the room is humming and shaking, and she can feel her body vibrate on the same frequency as Ward's, and for a moment she is not sure where she ends and where he begins, and maybe they are the same, and then he adds another finger and curls them, and massages her clit with his tongue, cold from the ice, and his hands are on her hips, keeping her down as she bucks against his lips, faster and faster and faster…

And then she is coming, the orgasm hitting her with such a force she feels like her body and falling apart into molecules, and it just keeps going on and on and on, until she loses track of time as wave after wave of pleasure is washing over her, and her back is rising from the bed and she is chanting his name (she thinks), and if the world was to end right now, she wouldn't even mind it.

She must have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing she knows is that she is lying still once again, trying to catch her breath, while every nerve in her body is still hypersensitive, and she is aware of every single square millimeter of her body, meanwhile the sound is just coming back.

"Are you still there, sweetheart?" she hears him ask, his vpice strangely distant, and it takes her a moment to process the question; when she does, she gives him a weak nod. The next moment his hands are on her face, carefully slipping off her blindfold.

The dim lights of the room are blinding for a second, and she has to blink a couple of times to focus; but when she can see clearly once again, the first thing she sees is his face above her, his expression loving and proud and slightly concerned.

"Oh, God, you're beautiful." It takes her a moment to realize that she said it out loud.

He grins at her, and kisses her forehead first, and then the tip of her nose.

"I could say the same about you," he tells her before kissing her on the lips; she wants to deepen the kiss, but she just can't find the energy in her to do so. Actually, her whole body feels like it is made of liquid, and she is completely sated and there is no strength in her limbs, and her eyelids are fluttering closed, so she is barely aware of that he is untying her wrists.

"What? No," she protests weakly. "It can't be over yet; you still hasn't…"

"You can barely keep your eyes open," he counters as he frees both of her wrists, and places her arms gently nest to her sides kissing the back of her hand on both sides. Then he takes a wet washcloth – something he has had prepared as well – from the bedside table, and runs it along her body, cleaning her of any residual stickiness. He is touching her all soothingly, and it does nothing to help her stay awake. "I can wait," he tells her as he pulls the sheet over her (it's good; she was starting to get a little cold). "You can pay it back when you've rested a bit."

"Hm…" she hums, her eyes already closed as he slips under the covers with her, turns off the lamp, and wraps his arms around her. She half-instinctively cuddles up to him, resting her face on his warm chest. "Okay… But you should know," she sighs against his skin, "that it was the best orgasm of my life."

Even if he answers to that, she doesn't hear it.

(She wakes about two hours later, her body humming, and then she proceeds the pay back the favor – thoroughly.)


	3. Blind Spot

**Blind Spot**

When he agreed to be Skye's S.O., Grant had no idea what he was getting into.

It wasn't that she was that hopeless or stubborn – well, she was stubborn, and she had absolutely zero experience, and she tended to complain a lot, but it soon turned out that she was hard-working and determined, and she was getting better and better every day. So no, it wasn't the problem.

The problem was that he wanted her.

He wanted her every minute of the day, and it just got worse when they had training – when she was within arm's reach, her skin under his fingertips, her scent in his nose, her very being enveloping his senses. It made every single training sessions a sweet torture – touch her, but don't linger; step close, but not too close; feel the contours of her body, but don't act like all you wanted to is to grab her hair and press her against the wall and drive into her.

Basically, under the surface every one of their sessions was about whether he could keep his carnal desires under control.

So far he thought he was doing an okay job – there was no way she could have guessed that lately she was staring in every one of his late night fantasies.

Well, at least he was somewhat certain of that.

"Again. Lift your leg a little higher!" he commanded curtly, keeping the punching bag steady for her. Skye let out an annoyed grunt, but did what he asked.

They were going through some of the kicking techniques, and he would have been lying if he said it wasn't making him all hot and bothered – watching as Skye worked, her leg swinging high before colliding with the bag, her muscles tensing, her pants stretching over her ass, sweat glistening on her forehead and collarbone and on the thin strip of skin that was showing between her pants and the hem of her top… She was terribly distracting.

She kicked again, grunting with the effort, and he swallowed. He desperately hoped she didn't catch that.

But of course she did.

She relaxed her stance and looked at him, panting, her eyes moving as if she was having an argument with herself. Then she closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them she stepped forward and grabbed his arm, and without any kind of explanation, she started pulling him away. And, the fool he was, he let her.

She led him through the deserted lab, back to the dimly lit hallways of the avionics bay, where she just stopped suddenly. There she turned to face him, hesitated for a moment once again – meanwhile he tried to figure out why she brought him there –, and then the next moment she was kissing him with fervor.

(That was the moment when he realized why she had brought him there – apart from the bathroom and the bunks, this was the only blind spot of the Bus's surveillance system.)

He froze for a moment, startled, but then he was kissing her back, his passions matching hers, one hand in her hair, the other on the small of her back, pulling her close. But then she pulled away.

"Cut the chase, Ward," she told him, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed. "You can stop this whole… pretending stuff. I want you and I know you want me – I can feel it," and with that she boldly cupped him through his pants, making him hiss. "You can try to act all noble about it, and feed yourself every kind of excuses about why this shouldn't work and why it shouldn't happen, but you know what? All you are accomplishing with this is that you get all grumpy and unsatisfied, and me? I'm left dripping and aching. You really should learn to go against the rules and relax a little, Agent Ward. You'd do a great favor to both of us with that."

He was just about to answer to that – although he had no idea what he could say –, but then there was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and she spoke again before he could have opened his mouth.

"And you know what? I'm going to help you with that."

Then, before he could comprehended what was happening – let alone stopped her –, she dropped to her knees in front of him, and was already pulling down his pants and underwear, freeing his cock.

This was the last moment he could have stopped her – but to be honest, he didn't want to.

So he just watched as she took his half-hard member into her hands – he didn't miss the appreciating glint in her eyes –, running her fingers along his length, and curling them around him – making his blood rush towards his member, almost leaving him light headed –, before taking him inside her mouth.

His head falling back, he let out a loud moan – he was in heaven.

The hot, wet cavern of her mouth enveloping his cock, working him expertly – her lips wrapping around his girth, sucking him, her tongue running along the underside of his member –, it was already enough to lose his mind, but she was using her hands, too, working on what she couldn't fit into her mouth, he was soon seeing starts and was fast losing sense of himself.

He was eternally grateful that they were not only standing at a blind spot, but also out of the range of any microphone – because the sounds, the desperate moans, that were breaking free from his throat would have been hard to explain.

For a while, he managed to keep his hands to himself, clenching them into fists by his side as he panted, but then she somehow _flicked_ her tongue over his head and then started _humming_ (he had no idea where she might have learned that, but damn, he was glad for it), and he couldn't take it anymore. He reached out and threaded his fingers into her hair, pushing her closer, encouraging her to go faster, while he tried not to wildly thrust into her mouth.

It's been a while for him – specialists, despite their skillset, were no James Bond, to find a new lay or two every single mission –, and as much as he wanted to make the moment last, he soon reached his limit. He made a half-hearted attempt to warn her, weakly trying to pull her off of him, but she just kept bobbing her head, taking him even deeper into her mouth, while her hands pumped the base of his shaft.

He came into her mouth the next moment, shooting his seed down her throat in hot spurts, and she took it, swallowing without complaint, receiving everything that he had to give. When he was done, he all but slumped against the wall of the corridor. But then she sat back on her heels and looked up at him with a cheeky grin on her face, her lips still beautifully swollen.

That was when something in him irrevocably snapped.

Reaching down and grabbing her arms – not caring about the fact the he still had his pants pushed down to his knees – he hastily pulled her up and bending his head down, crashed his lips against hers, kissing her almost aggressively, pulling her lower lip between his teeth, then thrusting his tongue into her mouth, feeling himself on her tongue.

"I'm so going to pay you back for this tonight," he panted against her lips when he finally came up for air.

"I'm counting on it," was her only reply.


	4. Inevitability (Dublin Cycle I)

**A/N:** Sometimes, no matter how we love the story itself, the words just won't come, and the characters will not work and move the way we want them, and we get stuck at writing. This happened to me with this story, too, but now I can happily announce that I've slain this demon, and thus can present this story to you. Special thanks goes to Ezriela for the prompt, and to Ticklish-super-spy for enduring my late night, in depth rambles about how the banging should work out in this fic, and advised me about what to cut and what to leave in when I scraped most of this baby in the first round.

* * *

 **Inevitability**

In hindsight, it was completely inevitable. She had it coming from the moment she sat down next to him in the bar – hell, she had it coming from the moment he opened the door of her van, and looked at her all smug and cocky from behind his sunglasses.

But tonight was definitely a turning point – with him accepting, if not her offer to talk, but at least her company, letting her in a little, and daring to show her that he, too, was vulnerable. And so they talked, maybe not exactly about what she had originally meant to talk about, but they talked and exchanged bittersweet smiles and laughed at lame jokes, and she soon found herself leaning closer and placing her hand on his knee and flirting with him without meaning to – but then there was that glint in his eyes that told her it was not at all unwelcome. And then he was leaning in too, casually covering her hand with his on the counter, drawing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb with surprising gentleness.

A look, a touch; and it was enough to make her desire stir.

So yeah, it's absolutely no surprise that, when they finally decided to turn in for the night, she was moaning into his mouth as soon as they were out of the bar.

(Honestly, she has no idea who made the actual first move – one moment he was opening the door for her and slipping his arm around her waist in the most respectable manner, and then the next her hands were fisted in his shirt and she was thrusting her tongue into his mouth.)

(So yeah, she might have made the first move.)

It was a smaller miracle that they got to her hotel room – hers, simply because it was closer than his – before they started all but ripping off each other's clothes.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, he was backing her against it, pressing her against the wood, taking her face in his hands and kissing her with fervor, biting her lower lip, then moving down and sucking on the column of her neck, making her knees weak. She sighed and panted as he worked on her, her hand on his head, fingers buried in his short, dark hair, pressing him closer. When he bit into the flesh where her neck and shoulder met, with just enough force to cut off the circulation for a moment, then lapped at the spot, soothing the sting, she moaned out loud and pushed herself against him.

As great as it was to stand there and make out, it was soon becoming _not enough_. She needed to be closer to him – as close as she could get. She needed to feel his hands on her, needed his bare chest pressed against her, needed him deep within her… God, she needed him.

Urged by the hot wetness pooling between her legs, she slid her hands down his back until she reached the hem of his shirt – tucked in so messily, in a way that was doing _things_ to her –, she pulled it out and inched the fabric up, slipping her hands under it and splaying her fingers on the warm skin of his lower back for a moment, before pulling the shirt even higher, leaving no doubt about her intent of getting it off of him.

He reacted with the same swiftness and determination as he always did. His hands moving from her waist he grabbed the hem of his shirt, and, taking half a step back, he pulled the garment off and threw it away in one fluid motion, revealing the smooth skin and hard muscles underneath.

She barely had time to marvel at his naked chest – and there was a lot to marvel at – when he was back on her again, this time reaching for the bottom of her shirt and pulling it off of her, almost aggressively with desire. She raised her arms obligingly, helping him to get her rid of it, and as soon as it was off, not even waiting for him to turn back towards her as he tossed her shirt away, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra (her stupid, polka dotted bra that so didn't match her panties; now she really wished she had put on something sexier). By the time his gaze turned on her once again, she was already pushing the straps off her shoulders, letting the garment fall to the floor in front of her feet.

She saw his pupils dilate and his Adam's apple bob as his gaze fixed on her breasts (she couldn'd help the smug grin on her face), taking in their fullness and her dark nipples, standing erect from arousal ( _hah_ – she'd always known he was a boob man). Then he moved again, swift, like a predator attacking his prey, his hands cupping her face, his mouth on hers, kissing her without mercy, making her moan and whimper.

Impatience soon getting better of him, his hands slid down; he grabbed the top of her thighs and lifted her, squeezing her ass and crashing her body against his, holding her high enough that he could wrap his lips around her nipple, making her scream. Not pulling away for a moment, he carried her over to the bed and dropped her on the soft mattress. Bouncing slightly, she sat up, just in time to see him pull the zipper of her boots down, pulling them off her feet, before reaching for the button of her jeans. Helping him, she lifted her hips, biting her lip and breathing heavily as she watched him all but yank her pants down her legs along with her panties, leaving her stark naked on the sheets.

Then there was a pause; a short one, but a pause nonetheless, during which he stood up, and just watched her, unveiled arousal in his eyes as his gaze skimmed over the curves of her body. The pure hunger and need written on his face made her bit her lip in anticipation and clench her thighs together, seeking some kind of friction.

"You have no idea how long have I been dreaming of doing this," he said, his voice deep, hoarse with lust.

She couldn't restrain herself from cocking an eyebrow at him and giving him a mischievous, challenging look.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

That was enough to break the spell – the corners of his mouth pulling into a half smile, he reached for his belt, not taking his eyes off of her for a moment.

But before he could have gotten the belt unbuckled, she reached out and put her hand on his wrist, stopping him.

"Let me," she said, looking deep into his eyes.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, she slowly lowered her gaze and leaned closer, then put her lips just under his navel, kissing the surprisingly soft skin there, drawing a line on his stomach with her tongue (she felt his muscles twitch). She heard him let out a long breath, then with one of his hands on her head, his fingers buried in her hair, she pulled away, gave him a seductive glance from under her lashes, and then slowly pulled the end of his belt free.

Despite the desire thrumming inside of her, urging her to get him naked as soon as possible, she took her time; unbuckled his belt slowly, popped the button whilst looking up at him and licking her lips, then pulled his zipper down, almost tooth by tooth. Finally, slipping her fingers under them waistband of his bulging black boxer briefs, and pulled him free.

She had to sit back for a moment.

Because… it's… _wow_. She had always known that he must be packing – big, tall guy like him, with such a confidence, she knew he had to be… _sizeable_. But what was right in front of her eyes was beyond her expectations. Aroused and fully erect, his cock stood impossibly long and thick in front of her, the tip the purplish head gleaming slightly, the veins along his shaft standing out.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed hard.

He was easily the biggest guy she'd ever been with – while she had never thought that Miles was lacking in this department (although he did have some issues with technique that often left her unsatisfied, to be honest), his size paled in comparison to Grant's. So much that she couldn't help but wonder – was he even going to fit?

Grant, with his acute awareness of her even in his pleasure-addled state, sensed her momentarily lapse of focus.

"Is everything alright?" he asked with surprising clarity, slight concern in his voice, as he moved to kneel in front of her to get to the same level as her.

Blinking and still staring at him (he was sort of beautiful), she placed her hands on his hips, on the straining cords of muscle, stopping him.

"Of course," she said, looking up at his face with cheeky, disarming smile playing on her lips. "It's just…" she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, giving him a confident pump, making his breath hitch, "I've never thought you were porn star-quality, at least as far as size go, that's all."

Somehow having – at least partially – regained his composure, he looked down at her with a cocky, smug smile on his face – oh, she was so going to get back at him for that.

"And here I thought you've already gotten a decent look at it," he said, wrapping his own fingers around her hand, as if to encourage her to feel his thickness, and to have an idea what was waiting for her.

For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about (to be honest, she had much more exciting things to focus on), but then it clicked – the glasses. He knew about the freaking glasses. That bastard.

"Maybe less talking and more action, please?" she told him, lacking any sharper retort. "I'm about to combust here, and if you don't do something about it really soon, I will have to take care of it myself." And, just to prove her point, she spread her legs a little wider, and slipped her fingers between her folds, letting out a sultry moan as her fingertips brushed against her clit. "And neither of us would want that, right?"

He got the hint; with fire in his eyes, he quickly removed all his remaining clothing, leaving his pants pooled on the floor, and, finally as naked as she was, he climbed over her, making her back towards the middle of the bed. His knees between her thighs, his hardness pushing just slightly against her core (driving her mad with desire), he lowered himself and kissed her once again, hungrily and with bruising need, making her moan.

"I am going to make it so good for you," he promised in a hoarse whisper.

She was just about to make some comment along the lines of he'd better not promise things he cannot deliver, but he was faster than her – he moved down her body, first kissing down the column of her neck – robbing her of breath –, then took her nipple into his mouth once again, sucking at the hardened nub. Her back was already arching from the bed at this point, but he held her down, and continued his journey downwards, trailing his lips along the flat planes of her stomach.

She cried out loud when he slipped two fingers into her core and curled them.

And then his mouth was on her too, tongue lapping against her clit as his fingers moved inside of her in a teasingly slow rhythm. She bucked her hips against him, trying to get closer to him and get him to move faster, but he held her down, pinning her to the mattress. With her pleasure-addled brain she slowly realized what he was doing – he had no intentions of making her come, at least not yet; he was just working her, getting her ready, warm and wet and welcoming, for the main act.

And he really did raise his head from between her legs a couple of moments later, leaving her panting, wanting, aching, her core dripping.

Then he was climbing back up on her body once again, one hand pulling her left thigh up, opening her up, while his lips sought out hers, kissing her with urgency, leaving the taste of herself on her tongue. She could feel his hand moving between them as he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly, his voice strained, as if it took all of his self-control not to just pound into her. Oh, she couldn't wait.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice barely audible as she searched for his lips with half-closed eyes. She heard him moan, as if the mere thought of being inside of her caused him pleasure, then his fingers were on her clit, and he was sliding his cock between her folds, coating it with her juices, readying himself for entering her.

"Wait!" she said suddenly, led by a sudden idea, right before he could have pushed inside of her. He stopped right away, his body tensing with concern (it amazed her time and time again, how considerate, how attuned to her needs he seemed to be). Not wanting to worry or torture him, she gave him a cheeky, confident grin. "I want to be on top."

The confusion disappeared from his eyes right away, and was replaced by pure lust. One corner of his mouth pulling into a half-smile, suddenly he put his arms around her, and swiftly throwing his weight around he switched their positions (making her squeal), until he was lying on his back, with her straddling his thighs.

"Wow," she chuckled, throwing her hair behind her back. "How nice is the view from here," she said, putting her hands on his chest, splaying her fingers wide, slowly sliding them down.

"Believe me – it's better from here," he countered, eyes fixed on her breasts as he rose a bit, supporting himself on his elbows, and took one of her nipples into his mouth. It was very much like the first time he had done that – as if an electric current had gone through her body, making all of her nerve endings tingle in the best possible way. She arched her back, letting out a moan so loud it would have made her embarrassed on any other day.

What was in the guy that turned her on so much?

She had no idea – well, she had several ideas –, but she was sure of one thing: she couldn't wait any longer.

As he let go of her nipple, she placed her hands on his shoulder, and pushed him down, until he was lying flat on the bed once again. Then she grinned cheekily at him, and took his hard, throbbing member into her hand, giving him a hard pump, making his breath hitch.

Then she was rising on her knees, inching slightly forward, until her opening was right above him, letting his head slip between her outer folds, massaging her clit.

It was already so good she was losing her mind – and, from the look on his face, it was a sensation they shared.

"Let me," this time it was him who said that, one hand high on her thigh, the other on his shaft, steadying himself. She nodded, letting go of his cock, and putting her hands on herself, parting her lips slightly so she could feel him slip inside her and could guide him, help him along, have him where she wanted him the most.

There was one last moment of doubt – could she take him? All of him? –, and then she was sinking down on him.

She doubted she had even been more aroused, she was ready and dripping, and she was taking him in slowly, inch by glorious inch, but he was still big, biggest that she'd ever had, and he was stretching her to her limit, almost to the point of pain, making her moan and forget about herself. Once fully sheathed in her, filling her completely, he was reaching parts of her no-one had ever reached before.

She sat motionless for a moment, panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as she fought the urge to move while trying to get used to his size – giving her body time to adjust, to accommodate his girth, because she was half-sure if she started riding him like her body was urging her to, she'd come undone along the seams.

He was still, too; his hips buckled slightly once or twice, and he was groping the top of her thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh with such a force she was sure he was going to leave bruises, but he remained still, giving her all the time she needed – even though she could see on his face how hard it was for him.

And then she started moving – rocking gently, testing the waters, angling her hips carefully, so he'd slip out an inch before sliding back in, the tip of his cock hitting her walls just the right way. In the end, it was easier than she had expected it to be – once experienced what it was to have him inside of her, her body welcomed him; it still pinched a bit, but the sensation was fading fast. Her juices coating him, he moved easily inside of her, making her feel like this, this experience was what she had been waiting for all her life – as if they had been created to fit, destined to be each other's (as cheesy as it was).

Soon, he was moving too, matching her rhythm as she sped up, rocking her hips and bouncing up and down, the two of them almost separating, his hardness almost slipping out of her before he slammed back in, hitting spots that were making her cry out, loudly and wantonly, her head thrown back (in the back of her mind, she was grateful that it was happening in the hotel – they was no way they could have done it on the Bus without everyone knowing).

One hand still on her thigh, almost at her hip, the other having found its way first to her hair, burying his fingers in her locks for a moment before his palm slid down to her breast, squeezing the full, fleshy mound, he somehow took the reins, even from under her. Soon, he was dictating the rhythm, his hips moving wildly, ramming into her with great precision, making her eyes flutter closed and fireworks burst behind her eyelids as she threw her head back and sighed and moaned and cried.

"That's it," she heard him say, not stopping or slowing down for a second, his voice strained and low and impossibly arousing. "Don't hold back – give me everything you've got."

He'd trained her well – she obeyed orders now (most of the time), and she obeyed now, speeding up even more, her movements becoming erratic as she slammed back down onto him forcefully, squeezing her walls around him until she lost sense of where she ended and he began. He was a part of her now, deep, deep within her, lifting her to heights she'd never visited before.

And then – it was over. The tension that had been coiling in her body eased suddenly, snapped like a rubber band, pleasure running though her nerves in overwhelming waves, reaching the tips of her fingers and making her scalp tingle and her toes curl and her whole body shiver and tremble as she cried out, spasming around him and squeezing him from the inside, ripping her away from reality from one long, never ending moment.

She was marginally aware of her orgasm triggering his – he held her hips even tighter, fingers digging into her soft flesh, as the tendons on his neck strained and he grunted, his hips stilling for a moment before he gave her a couple last, powerful, punctuated thrusts, spilling his seed deep inside her.

When she was finally coming back from her high – she had no idea how long it actually lasted; longer than usually, that she was sure of –, spent and her bones feeling like jello, she just collapsed on top of him, trying to catch her breath.

It took her a while to start forming coherent thoughts again, but when she did, she was sure of a couple of things. One: Grant Ward's chest made an excellent pillow. Two: she was _so_ going to feel it tomorrow. Three: this was just about the best orgasm she had ever had – counting both those she had been given and those she had to thank herself. And four: somebody was caressing her back, and it felt really, really good.

"Um…" she murmured against the warm skin of his chest, still panting a little, her eyes closing slowly in contentment. "You should know that I think you've just ruined every other man for me. Shame on you," she said, trying to sound snarky, but honestly, not really succeeding. She was way too sated and comfortable and happy to snark.

He laughed – a deep, vibrating sound just under her ear –, meanwhile she felt him reach down and ease himself out of her. She let out a protesting little moan at the loss of contact; she had to find a way to get him back inside of her, and soon.

"That's good," he said at last, his voice low, seductive, "because I'd hate to share you anyway."


	5. Surrender (Dublin Cycle II)

**A/N:** My muse ran a little wild with me, and thus I continuing the last chapter, turning it into a… well, not a full, round story, more like a cohesive set of smuts – let's call it the Dublin Cycle. The whole story will be six chapters long, and will take place within about 36 hours. To the anon who wanted a morning after scene – that'll be included, too! But at first let me present this chapter, taking place right after the first one ended.

* * *

 **Surrender**

"That's good, because I'd hate to share you anyway," he said, and he meant it.

It had been a long struggle for him, a battle he had fought with himself – denying his attraction for her, his raw need for her that went beyond – way beyond – his hunger for her body. For the longest time, he had tried to convince himself that it was a bad idea, a terrible idea, that nothing good would come out of it, that she didn't want him that way, that it would be stupid and pointless, and that it was destined to end up being a disaster, but now that it finally happened, now that he gave up the fight and knelt at her feet in surrender, now he didn't regret it a bit (it was so much more than what he'd imagined).

Sure, he knew, rationally, that it was a bad idea, and was afraid what would happen when – when, not if – his demons caught up with them, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. He'd fight – and win – that battle when the time came, but until then – until then he was going to live in the moment.

Skye's warm, sated weight pressing down on his body felt like heaven. The way her lashes brushed against his skin as her eyes fluttered closed, her breath tickling his chest as she let out a content sigh, her breasts pressed against his body, her hands finding resting place on his waist, her legs still spread, bracketing his hips, her juices, mixed with his seed – the reminder of their coupling – dripping from her core… He was half-sure he really was in heaven.

His hands on her head, caressing her silky hair, hands sliding down the length of her back, Skye let out a low, unintelligible murmur, then buried her head deeper into his chest.

He couldn't help the deep chuckle that tore free from his lips.

"Are you going to fall asleep on me?" he asked with a rare, teasing edge in his voice.

"No," she answered, mumbling into his chest as she hugged his waist. "Maybe…" she corrected herself when he chuckled again. "You wore me out, okay?"

He tried not to be smug about that, he really did, but it was near impossible – he took a somewhat animalistic pride in the fact that he had been able to basically render her boneless, purring with pleasure. That it took only one round to…

Skye raised her head slightly and looked at him with narrowed eyes, but with a smile hiding at the corners of her mouth.

"Don't gloat – it's not attractive," she told him, as if she was reading his mind; he couldn't help the carefree chuckle that escaped his mouth. Skye only wrinkled her nose for a moment, stuck her tongue out at him, then lay her head on his chest once again.

"Are you really planning on sleeping on top of me?" he asked, brushing careful fingertips along her arms, trying to gently rouse her.

"Uh-um," she nodded against his chest. "You're comfy."

Well, truth to be told, he was rather comfortable – more than that –, but he still wasn't going to let her fall asleep just yet. He had more plans for the night.

Because he had had many women – some he wasn't proud of – in his past, who were the kind that was enough to take once; bland, uninteresting, unimportant women, whom he had used for momentary relief; women he had met once, made it clear what he wanted and what he was willing to give, had a pleasant hour with them, and already forgot them by next morning. But Skye wasn't that kind of woman – no, she was the kind that one couldn't have enough, the kind to be explored and worshipped.

And he was planning on doing exactly that.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, his voice dropping a notch as his hands grew bolder in their caressing, dipping lower and lower on her body, until he was skimming over the contours of her ass. She sighed contently, showing him that his ministrations weren't unwelcome. "Because the night's still young," he slid his hands over her cheeks, giving them a confident squeeze, "we could be doing… other things… before slipping under the covers."

She giggled against his chest, getting his innuendo, then pressed her lips against his pecs in response.

"And what exactly do you have in mind – oh!" she was saying, sliding slowly down his body to gain better access, pushing her core against his erection in the process. "Wow," she whispered, before drawing an upward line on his chest with her tongue, sliding back up. "That's impressive."

Usually, it took him longer than that to recover and to be ready to go again (not to mention that he rarely met women he wanted to have twice), but Skye… Skye was incredible, a kind of minx he'd never get enough of, and it was doing things to him. Like making him painfully hard mere minutes after his most gratifying orgasm in years.

"This is exactly what I have in mind," he said, deciding to reply to her earlier question instead of remarking on her "impressive" comment – gloating, after all, was not attractive. "For the rest of the night, again and again."

He put his hand on the back of her neck, gently signaling her to raise her head. When she did, he guided her face towards his, trying to kiss her, but she kept pulling back – not saying no, but playing a game, making sure that their open mouths always stayed a hair's breadth apart. First she drew back, forcing him to lean forward, and when he pulled back just a bit, it was her chasing him, making sure their hot breaths mingled, but their lips never touched. He could practically feel her grin against his mouth.

"Alright," she said at last, still close enough that he could taste her words, grinding down on his hard member. "But you'll need to do most of the work."

He didn't need to be told twice; grinning at her, and using her momentary lapse in attention, he pressed his lips against hers, giving her a searing, passionate kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth, then grabbed her hips, and quickly flipped them over, so she was on her back and him on top of her.

His lips leaving hers, she laughed out in delight, her arms sneaking around his neck, but he didn't give her much time to be amused by his strength and skills in moving her body around. He kissed her again, nibbling at her lips, and then moving down on her neck in hurried, hungry fashion, turning her laughter into a needy moan.

Grabbing one of her thighs, he pulled her leg up, opening her up to him, which prompted her to put her foot on the small of his back, giving him all the encouragement he needed.

He didn't waste his time – he grabbed himself, positioned his tip at her entrance, and pushed inside in one fluid stroke, making her gasp and arch her back.

Still coming down from the highs of her first orgasm, she was still warm and wet and ready for him, so there was no need for any further foreplay. He actually slipped in easier, with less resistance that at the first time – with him leading the act now, and with Skye knowing that she could, in fact, take his size, there was no nervous tension in her now, letting him slide in as it was their destiny to complete each other, both in body and soul.

He didn't really give time to her to adjust, either; he started moving almost as soon as he was inside her to the hilt, pulling out almost entirely, before plunging back in. He started with a slow rhythm, looking at her face for any clues. She was evidently enjoying it – her eyes were shut in pleasure, but her mouth was open, forming a little O, with a soft moan escaping from her throat every time he hit home.

Encouraged by this, he increased his speed, going harder and faster, making the bed rock slightly under them. Bracing himself on one hand, he palmed her breast with the other, never once slowing down, then, when she let out a particularly loud moan and raised her hand to fondle her breast herself, pinching her nipple, he grabbed her leg, the one that was around his hip, and pulled it forward, until her calf was resting on his shoulder, hoping to get a new, deeper angle with this move.

And it worked, worked beautifully.

This slightly new position let him hit a place inside of her that made her freeze up almost instantly, her body tensing, her toes curling, her hands grabbing at the sheets, her walls clamping down on him, and a loud cry erupting from her lips as she came.

He had never seen – at least not firsthand – an orgasm so sudden and so intense, but here it was, making her tremble under him, with her head thrown back, and her core spasming around him.

It was beautiful.

Not yet close to the climax himself to come with her, he slowed his thrusts down, moving together with her body's own rhythm, helping her ride the orgasm out. When her body calmed down enough that her core only contracted sporadically around him, the tension left her body, and she just lay there, relaxed and panting, he stopped moving, too, stilling himself inside of her with considerable self-control, letting her to come back down.

"That was it?" he asked, now really sounding smug, as he carefully set her leg down from his shoulder. "That's enough for you to lose control?"

She cracked an eye open and gave him an exasperated look.

"Oh, shut up," she told him, without any edge of her voice. "It's been a while," he was sure not as long as for him, "and I'm not going to further inflate your ego with singing… oh… odes about what a great lover you are."

Still inside her, his nerves on fire, urging him to move, he grinned down at her.

"But you can't deny that I'm… good," he said, punctuation the last word with a gentle thrust of his hip, making her gasp.

"You are terrible!" she said, almost laughing, then she, too, angled her hips to take him deeper once again. "Still have fuel to go?"

He pulled out slightly, then back in, almost in slow motion.

"Ready when you are."

This time he really started out slow, letting her dictate the rhythm, what felt good for her and her body that must have been hypersensitive after two orgasms in under half an hour, even though she had said that now it'd be him who'd have to do most of the work.

He moved in a steady rhythm, carefully increasing his pace, making sure that she could take it. She was out of it for a little while, unable to keep up with him – she just let him take her, whimpering in pleasure with her eyes half-closed, her senses still veiled by her latest climax, but soon she was back with him, meeting thrust for thrust, her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh, anchoring herself to him, moaning and urging him to go faster.

And he did; their coupling soon turned frantic, making the bed rock and the mattress creak as he plunged into her and she thrust her hips forward, eager to meet him. Her legs around his hips and her nails leaving red lines on the skin of his back, as they moved as if there was no tomorrow.

It was a matter of pride to make her come again; he didn't care that she had already reached her climax once since they had started this round – finishing without pulling her with him was not an option.

He could feel his own orgasm coming – tension was coiling in the base of his spine, urging him to go even faster (even though he didn't think that was possible). Without slowing down even a bit, he reached down between them to seek out her clit, to rub and pinch it, helping her to come. She raised her hand from his shoulder almost immediately, and grabbed his wrist – not to pull him away, but to keep his hand firmly there between them, and guiding it to the right place, showing him where she wanted him the most.

When he hit the right spot, she cried out again.

The next moment he got too lost in pleasure for his mind to fully function. Skye tightened her walls around him as he plunged back in, making him see stars behind his eyelids as his restrains finally snapped – his body stilled in the sudden eruption of sensation, all of his nerve endings tingling and humming as he emptied himself into her.

Giving her a couple last, rigid, punctuated thrusts, he could feel her body vibrate with his in harmony, her walls clamping down then letting go, while her back arched and her mouth opened to a silent scream, telling him that he'd reached his goal – she was there with him, too.

In the next moment, nothing existed – not the bed, not the hotel room, not their teammates down the hall, not even the monsters hiding in the shadows – only him, stripped bare, mask thrown aside, and the beautiful, amazing girl under him.

Only Grant and Skye.

Afterwards, he collapsed next to her, on his back, panting and laughing and trying to catch his breath, brushing his sweaty hair out of his forehead.

Skye moved without him realizing that she was moving – she turned around, throwing a leg over his thigh and laying her head on his chest. Once settled, she let out a content sigh.

"You make a really good pillow, you know that, right?" she asked, her voice muffled by his skin. He chuckled.

"It's not something I've been told before," he said, maneuvering her so he could pull the cover over their bodies.

"It's a shame – because you are."

"Was that a compliment?"

She laughed against his chest as he covered her shoulders with the duvet, tucking her in.

"Just don't let it get to your head," she mumbled, burrowing deeper into the soft bedding.

"I'll try."

"Anyways…" she said, her sentence interrupted by a yawn. "You really are a great lover."

And then she was asleep.

Grant, deciding that there were far worse things than falling asleep intertwined with a girl he had just made love to, put his arm around her shoulder and closed his eyes.


	6. Doubt (Dublin Cycle III)

**Doubt**

For a moment, he had no idea what woke him. Everything seemed to be in order – he was in bed, undisturbed; it was an unfamiliar one, true, but that shouldn't have bothered him. Even through his closed eyelids, he knew that darkness reigned over the room, still deep into the night. He lay still, not moving a muscle – not giving away that he was awake –, listening, but he couldn't hear anything save for the distant noise of cars passing by down the street.

It took him almost a full minute realize that what woke him wasn't anything that was there, but something that _wasn't_.

He had fallen asleep with Skye's warm weight on his chest, the sweet scent of her shampoo in his nose, and now he was alone in bed. For a moment, he almost panicked – was their lovemaking just a desire-induced dream? –, but then he realized that he was naked under the covers, and that calmed him (he never slept naked; it was tactically unwise – what if he was attacked during the night?).

Opening his eyes he sat up slowly, looking around. The room was engulfed in near-darkness, but he could still make out the rumpled shapes of their clothes strewn around on the floor – his shirt in a far corner, her pants by the end of the bed. And then there she was – standing by the window in her naked glory, a dim vision in the weak light of the street lamps, gazing out at the outside world.

A small, grateful smile on his lips – she was there, with him, in the flesh –, he pulled the duvet away and stood up slowly.

"Hey," he said softly, making her aware of him. A slight tremble ran through her body at his voice, but then she turned around to look at him, a tentative, almost shy smile on her lips as she crossed her arms under her breasts. "You are going to catch a cold."

She shrugged.

"I'm okay," she said, but she still let him drape the blanket he'd taken from the bed on her shoulders. She grabbed the edge of the fabric and pulled it close to her chest before turning away from him once again, her gaze returning to the window.

"Is everything okay?" he asked with rising concern, lifting a hand, but hesitating for a moment – could he do that? Was he allowed to touch her? – before daring to place it on her upper arm.

She covered his hand with hers a moment later.

"Yeah, it's just…" she said after a short pause, trailing off, the end of her sentence left hanging, still not looking at him. "Stand with me for a bit?"

He nodded and took half a step closer to her, until he was standing right behind her and could slip his arms around her middle. Moments like this always made him realize how small she really was, at least compared to him – he could have tucked her head under his chin if he wanted, and her body felt alarming thin and fragile in his arms.

Skye was tense for a moment, then she relaxed, and let herself lean onto him, her back pressed against his chest. She took a deep breath, then released it slowly (he felt it all – how her ribcage expanded, then collapsed again), meanwhile keeping her eyes on the street below. He followed her gaze.

The streets of Dublin were mostly quiet this time of the night. Only a few cars passed in front of the hotel, spattering water from the puddles that lay on the side of the road. It had rained while they slept; the asphalt was shiny with rainwater, and the fresh leaves of the trees lining the street were heavy with raindrops. The whole picture was cold, slimy, grey, almost depressing.

He didn't like the Irish Spring; its wet coolness didn't match the mood – he didn't want it to match the mood – of the night. He longed for the Italian Spring, or the Spring of the Riviera – warm, balsamic, full of sunshine. But you can't get everything you want, right? You have to make peace with what you get.

And currently, regardless of the mournful weather outside, he was rather content with what he had.

"I'm an impulsive person," Skye said suddenly, shattering the quiet melancholy of the moment; her voice was barely more than a whisper, and she was staring ahead, speaking to the windowpane. He could barely make out her reflection in the glass. "I act and think later. Or don't think at all…" she trailed off, closing her eyes for a moment. She placed her hand on top of his. "And I do stupid things. Irresponsible things. Inconsiderate things. Things that I regret."

Grant swallowed, keeping still like a sculpture.

"Do you regret tonight?" he asked, straight to the point, face blank, voice emotionless. There was no point in playing games.

He could understand if she had regretted it – he was not the guy you wanted to get settled with, he knew that. He was not… boyfriend-material. But still, heavens help him, there was this strange feeling in his chest when he was with this amazing girl, a feeling a lot like happiness, and he didn't want to lose that.

He didn't want to lose her.

She took her time to answer.

"No," she said at last, slipping her fingers between his. "Not like that. It was… amazing. It's just…" She sighed.

"It's just?"

She hung her head for a moment, then turned around and looked up at his face. Gazing into his eyes, she raised her hand – the blanket slipped from her shoulders –, and cupped his face in her palm.

"You weren't yourself today – all that rage, and then we were drinking, and I…" she trailed off, but she didn't even have to finish the sentence.

He took her wrist into his hand, then brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm.

"Nothing happened that I didn't want to happen," he assured her. "I told you that."

"I know, but–"

He didn't let her finish. Letting her hand drop, he cupped her face, leaned in, and sealed her mouth with a kiss.

It wasn't like their previous, passion-fueled kisses of the night; there was no hunger here, only reassurance. His lips pressed against hers in a silent, unhurried act before pulling away and resting his forehead against hers, his thumb caressing her cheek.

"No buts. I…" He trailed off, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to find the right words. "It wasn't the Staff, or the alcohol, that brought me to do this – or, ultimately, maybe it was. Maybe that was the trigger. But still – what brought me to you was… you. You, and nothing else. You, Skye, you…" He sighed. "You have opened up something inside of me I didn't even know existed. And it didn't happen today. It happened… It's been happening for weeks. Today was just the day when I finally gave in – to you."

She didn't answer right away. She closed her eyes and stepped away from him, half turning towards the window again. He could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, counting the seconds, before she spoke again.

"You know, thinking about it, I think this whole thing was inevitable," she said quietly, slowly turning back towards him, eyes still cast down. "But still… it happened – and maybe it shouldn't have. And it's a big deal. We can't just sweep it under the rug, forget it happened and never talk about it again. I don't know about you, but I don't think I could go back to what it was before now."

He took a step towards her and put his hand on her hip.

"Me neither." There was a foreign urgency in his voice; he needed her to know that he felt the same way.

"Then what now?" she asked, finally looking up at him. "What do we do now, Grant?"

He couldn't answer right away. Instead he placed his free hand on her shoulder and drew her close to him, letting the bare lengths of their bodies press together, her soft curves against his hard planes, her head tucked under his chin, letting inhale the sweet scent of her hair. She let him.

"I don't… I don't know," he said at last. "We'll take as it comes?"

He felt her chuckle against his chest.

"What, no strategy, Mr. Super Spy?"

He wanted to laugh with her – he could see the irony, too –, but instead he pushed her slightly away from his body so he could look into her eyes.

"Look, I'm not… I don't do relationships." Even in the near darkness he saw her face fall, so he quickly continued. "I don't know how – so you'll have to teach me, alright?"

There was a moment of confusion, of a myriad of thoughts fighting for dominance in her gaze, looking up at him at first puzzled, then with tentative hope. A small smile formed on her lips at last.

"So… what you are saying is that _I_ should be _your_ S.O.?"

This actually made him chuckle.

"I haven't thought about it that way…" he said, grinning. "But in a way, yes."

"Well, then," she said, her eyelids dropping in a seductive way, her face angled towards his. "Lesson number one," she continued, but then let the end of the sentence hang in the void as she raised herself to the tip of her toes, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek, and kissed him.

It was a lot like the kiss they shared only minutes ago, languid, unhurried and sweet, but somehow heavier on the meaning. It was not just the act of the body, but a silent promise; an unsung ballad in the way how her lips pressed against his, caressing and begging and offering, soft and slow, but confident and sure.

Her eyes sparkled when she pulled away from him and looked into his eyes.

"Kiss me like that every day. That's the first lesson."

Still dazed a little, his forehead resting against hers, he watched her, his gaze moving between her eyes and her lips. There were so many things he wanted to tell her; so many secrets and promises, of how he'd do that, how he'd kiss her like that every day for the rest of their lives of she wanted that, and how he was willing to do so much more, how she was everything he had ever wanted and more, but he just couldn't find the right words to say all these things.

So instead he remained silent, and kissed her again.

Now, this kiss was different; there was fire, wild, raging fire in it. His arms sneaked around her trim waist, pulling her close, pressing her body against his as he coaxed her mouth open. Suddenly he was hyperaware of their nakedness – of how her nipples were hard against his chest, and how her skin was warm in the coolness of the room; how her hair tickled his bare shoulder, and how her legs brushed against his.

Her closeness set his blood ablaze. His heart was racing and he just couldn't get enough of her; his hands danced a mad dance on her body, trying to be everywhere at once, trying to feel as much of her as he could, sliding down the gentle slope of her back, to her round backside, then up again until the heels of his hands brushed against the swell of her breasts, while he continued kissing her, lips crashing and nibbling and brushing and fighting. And she was the same – she picked up the new pace quickly, and pressed her whole body against his, from toes to mouth, her hands gripping his upper arms before travelling to his shoulders, then sliding down, her nails leaving red imprints on his skin as she moaned into his mouth.

He needed her. He needed her closer and quivering and panting and chanting his name. He needed her.

And, apparently, the feeling was mutual.

Leaving her mouth to come up for air, his lips travelled down her neck, making her sigh and actually whine with want. At the same time, she pulled her hips away slightly, reached down between them, and grabbed his rapidly hardening member, giving him a confident squeeze.

He bit into her shoulder in surprise.

"Please," she panted into his ear, her other hand holding his head close, fingers buried in his hair. "I need you."

It was like an electric current ran through his body; he doubted he would ever get tired of hearing this.

He would have pushed into her right then, only now he faced a problem posed by something he had found endearing until then – she was short. Well, maybe not short, but considerably shorter than him, and so instead of slipping between her thighs, standing like this, he was poking her lower stomach. He need her elevated, and fast.

The bed, to be honest, seemed way too far away (even though the distance couldn't have been more than five or six paces). He thought about picking her up and pressing her against the wall so he could slide into her, but there was no good section of wall for that nearby (damn the lamps and paintings). The floor… to be honest, the floor didn't seem that appealing. But then, looking around in a somewhat frantic manner (his blood was chanting her name in his ears, urging him to take her, and take her _now_ ), he found the solution.

Two steps from them to his right, there was a table – some strange, modern design, with multi-leveled surface, that only held a vase of flowers and some hotel stationery on the highest level. But honestly, he didn't care about how it looked or what was on it – what he cared about was that it looked sturdy enough to bear Skye's weight and that it had a lower shelf, close to the carpet, just high enough that if she stepped on top of it, she's be at the perfect height for him.

Claiming her lips again with impatient hunger, and reaching down himself to cup her mound, slipping one finger between her folds, he gently steered her towards the table. When her backside hit the edge of the table, he stopped and pulled away, his hands sliding to her hips.

"From behind?" he asked almost self-consciously, not sure whether she'd like that position or not (it was just occurring to him – he had so much to learn about her, even sex-wise. And honestly, he couldn't wait to discover every little kink of hers).

"Oh, yes," she answered with sparkling eyes, obviously aroused by the idea. She turned around right away and, almost as if she could read his mind, placed one foot on that lower shelf, pushing herself higher.

He hadn't considered it before – at least not from this angle –, but Skye from behind, especially from behind and _naked_ , was a sight to behold. Her shoulders were thin and her arms had soft contours (although he could already see the fruition of their workouts in the slowly forming muscles of her upper arms), but her back was beautifully toned, with her spine a graceful line running down in the middle of it. There were two little indentations on the small if her back begging to be kissed, and a small beauty spot, just a shade or two darker than her skin, on her left hip. And her ass… oh, her ass was something to die for.

He could have spent the whole night just marveling at her beauty, but by then he was painfully hard, and he just needed to be inside of her, as soon as possible.

"You are gorgeous," he growled into her ear, one hand sneaking in front of her body and cupping her breast, pinching her nipple (making her gasp), while the other slid down her leg, grabbing it just under her knee, and pulling it upwards, until it rested on the table, opening her up for him.

It was a real struggle, not pounding into her right away, when she was there, right in front of him, ready to ravished, seeing her wet core glisten in the dim light of the streetlamps that stole into the room, but he held back. He knew from their previous encounter that she needed more foreplay than that to be ready to take him. So he continued massaging her breast, eliciting low, keening noises from her, while his free hand slid down the length of her back, tracing the line of her spine. When he reached the curve of her ass, he gave her a slight slap – more playful than anything –, making her gasp, then pushed his hand between her legs, seeking out her core.

She was wet, but not enough; he could slip two fingers inside her with relative ease, but he could still feel the slight tension as her slit strained against his digits, struggling to take him. So he curled his fingers inside of her and pulled them slowly out before pushing them back in, working her gently, while caressing her walls with his fingertips.

His ministrations were awarded almost immediately – she was panting and whimpering in front of him, her hips moving in a slow rhythm to match his movements, while the tension in her core slowly eased and her juices began dripping, so he added another finger and increased his pace, making her whimper.

"Mmm… please," she moaned in a low, hoarse voice. "Stop teasing."

Who was he to deny her anything?

He pulled his fingers from her core (she whimpered at the loss of contact), then took hold of his member and slid it between her lips, coating himself in her juices, but not entering her.

"This is what you want?" he asked, pushing his member a little forward, until his tip just brushed against her clit, making her gasp.

"Yes!" she cried, leaning forward and pushing her ass against him. She was getting desperate, her mind hazed by unfulfilled lust, and he was right there with her.

So he didn't waste any more time – he pulled back a little, just so he could position the tip of his erection at her center, then, without any further delay or teasing, he slid home.

Being sheathed inside of her was just as euphoric as the first and the second time, and his mind went pleasantly blank for a moment, almost making him miss her ecstatic moan (she was loud; he was slowly starting to see that it would pose a problem, should they continue their… cardio exercises on the Bus).

After a moment of stillness, he started moving – she was warm and wet and welcoming, as he slipped in and out of her with ease. This position, with her standing with one foot on the lower shelf, the knee of her other leg on the top of the table, offered them a completely new angle – this way her core actually got higher than his member, so he had to thrust upwards, hitting parts of her he couldn't have hit before.

And, at least from the sounds that were leaving her mouth, she was enjoying it.

Encouraged by her moans and his own urging need, he was soon pounding into her with vehemence, making the whole table rock. Getting lost in the pleasure, it was slowly getting harder for her to keep and stay upright, so he grabbed her ankle – the one on the table – with one hand, and her hip with the other, keeping her steady, while he kept thrusting into her in a crazed rhythm, grunting loudly with each stabbing movement of his hips (he was usually quiet in bed; the things she was doing to him…).

He soon forgot about the world around them; it was just her, the soft expanse of her back and the waterfall of her hair, and her hot, velvet walls, squeezing around him.

He knew with absolute clarity that this was the place he wanted to stay until the end of days.

She kept moaning and whimpering and crying out loud, trying to keep herself up with her hands pressed against the glossy surface of the table, but he was pounding into her with such force that her hands kept slipping forward, while her breasts bounced with every powerful thrust of his hips.

"Getting there?" she asked when she somehow managed to turn backwards halfway, trying to look at him. The slight change in angle made him hit yet another so far uncharted part of her, and Skye cried out once again, throwing her head back.

Yes, he was getting there, and getting there fast; he could already feel the coiling tension in the base of his spine and in his groin, the overwhelming wave of pleasure waiting to be released.

"Almost," he managed to grunt out, increasing his pace even more.

Skye didn't answer; she simply somehow managed to put her weight on one arm, even with his assault going on, then slipped her free hand between her legs and started rubbing her clit furiously, her fingers brushing time and time again against his member as he pounded into her.

And that was it.

The next moment the world stilled and focused to one point, that one point being her hot core, her walls tight around him. He ceased his fast rhythm, changing to slow, jerking, punctuating thrusts as he shot his seed inside of her in spurts.

With stars dancing behind his closed eyelids and his ears buzzing as his climax washed over him, leaving all of his nerve endings buzzing with pleasure, he was vaguely aware of her walls contracting around him in neat intervals, signaling that she, too, had fallen over the edge. He opened his eyes, and saw her, hand still between her legs, head arching backwards, lids lowered and mouth hanging open in one last, drawn out, lustful moan, but the sound was lost to him.

When the sounds returned, and the world was on axis again, he fell forward, panting, and barely being able to catch himself before he crushed her, as she lay on the top of the table on her stomach, trying to catch her breath, one leg lying next to her in an awkward fashion, the other hanging in the air.

He carefully reached between them and pulled his softening member – dripping from her juices and his seed mixed together – from her core, making her whimper at the loss of contact, then he let himself lie on top of her, careful not to put his full weight on her. His hot, heaving chest resting against her back, and his cheek pillowed on her shoulder blade, he pressed a kiss to the base of her neck.

"You are amazing," he whispered, his eyelids dropping for a moment as he let himself get engulfed in her sweet, post-coital scent. She hummed contently under him.

"You are not bad yourself, either," she answered, slowly stirring, signaling to him that she wanted to get up. "And you know what?" she asked, her voice hoarse and low from the pleasure still coursing through her veins as she pushed herself up from the tabletop. "This could be lesson number two – good sex. Good sex is a cornerstone of a good relationship," she said, standing upright – albeit seemingly on slightly shaky legs – once again, turning towards him, and putting her arms around his neck. "Not that you have any problems in this regard." Standing on the tip of her toes, she gave him a quick, sweet kiss. "And not, take me to bed."


	7. Serenity (Dublin Cycle IV)

**A/N:** Happy new year! Here's my first post for the year (well, it's 2:40 am when I'm writing these lines). I wish you all a 2016 full of love, laughter and amazing fics :)

* * *

 **Serenity (Dublin Cycle IV)**

She woke slowly, gradually.

Strangely enough, the first thing she became aware of was that her hair, that tangled mess, was in her face as she lay on her side. Then came the fact that the sheets were caressing her body, her whole body – meaning that she was naked. Then she realized that she had something warm and solid and delicious right behind her.

And then, only then did she notice the gently exploring, soft lips on her neck.

Then she felt the mild, pleasurable ache between her legs, and realized that the natural heater in the bed with her was actually Grant, and suddenly all that had happened the night before clicked together.

She had slept with her S.O. – multiple times, actually. And they had not just simply banged – they _made love_ (and yeah, banged on the table), and talked, actually _talked_ about longing and feelings and relationships, and they kinda-sorta agreed that this _thing_ between them was worth exploring.

So now they were basically dating.

And she had an irking that the thought of this was supposed to freak her out, but it didn't. In fact, she wasn't scared or uncomfortable or hesitant or even feeling like she had done a big mistake. In fact, the thought of this made her giddy.

"I get that you're up with the sun," she said softly, her voice still hoarse with sleep, as she snuggled deeper into his chest. "But do you really have to wake me up, too? You know I'm supposed to have the day off today, right?" she teased him.

"Sorry, I had to," he answers, his lips trailing down her neck. "I'm hungry, and you are so…" He bit into the juncture of her neck, making her squeal. "Delicious."

"So now you are going to… _devour me_?" Two could play this game.

"Exactly," he answered, sneaking a hand in front of her, and cupping her breast, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She sighed contently. What a way to wake up!

"I assume you slept well?" she asked, trying to focus on his ministrations – he was moving up on her neck again – and her own words at the same time.

"Amazingly," he answered, his breath tickling her skin, raising goosebumps. "I was completely… thoroughly… _spent_ by the time I got to bed…" he told her, punctuating every item with a kiss, "then I saw glorious dreams…" A lick just behind the shell of her ear, making her tremble. "And I woke up with a beautiful girl in my arms. Best night in a long, long time."

She chuckled – what was soon turned into a moan as he sucked her earlobe into his mouth –, but didn't really know what she could say. This version of Grant was strange to her – not bad, not at all, just… foreign. Who would have thought that dropping her defenses (and throwing away her common sense) would lead to this? Would make him open up, and show this side of him – this free, teasing, alluring man? (Or that he was there under the surface all along?)

Not that she was complaining.

He hit a ticklish spot, and she giggled, her body jerking; she could feel his grin against her neck.

"So you're ticklish…" (The _too_ was implied, she knew.)

She wanted to protest (although what point it could have had, she had no idea), but he didn't let her. Well, technically, he did – he didn't occupy her mouth –, it's just he kept doing things to her that greatly interfered with her verbal abilities.

He kept kissing her neck and shoulder, gently nipping the soft, sensitive skin, while he continued playing with her breast, and, his other hand sliding under her head, he buried his fingers in her hair. The last remnants of sleep soon left her body, making her hyper-aware of everything, from the softness of the sheets to the hard contours of his chest against her back, while a different feeling filled up her veins.

Lust.

Heat was pooling between her legs, her nipples hardened to pebbles, her body was sighing for him, and the ache in her core intensified, this time demanding attention. Demanding him.

(So it was his plan all along, from the first teasing kiss he had woken up her with. Not that it bothered her the slightest.)

She pushed against him, seeking friction, and finding exactly what she hoped to find.

"It really feels like you are up and ready… for the day," she said before losing control of her voice and letting out an embarrassingly loud moan as he pinched her nipple. "And that you are having a good morning."

"The best," he answered, tilting his hips forward, pushing his hardened member against her, so the tip slid just between her tights (she wanted more). "Always the best with you."

With that, he let go of her breast and slid his hand down, down her stomach (her muscles contracted under his touch), until the tip of his fingers reached the gentle slope of her mound, stroking the sensitive skin, before thrusting one finger forward, slipping it between her lips, and finding her clit.

She bit back a moan.

"It feels like I'm not the only one ready," he whispered into her ear hoarsely, rubbing her clit harder before pushing the finger deeper in, until he reached her entrance. "You are so wet… and warm… I bet you can't think of anything right now… just of me… sliding into you…" he told her in a low, seductive voice, working her, slowly making her lose her mind.

The first digit of his finger slipped into her, and she whined. She wasn't proud of it, but she did.

"Oh, yes," she said, although even she wasn't sure whether it was an answer to what he was saying, or just an enthusiastic exclamation. "Yes… please…" she almost whined, her hips jerking forward, forcing his finger deeper.

"What? What do you want?" he breathed into her ear before biting her gently just under her jawline, soothing the mild sting with his tongue. "You just have to ask, Skye…"

She growled.

"You are terrible," she said, her words punctuated by another moan, as he hit a sweet spot inside her. "Don't make me beg!"

"What do you want?" he echoed stubbornly, adding another finger. It still wasn't enough.

She caved in.

"I want you! Just take me already!"

He kissed her neck once again, sucking at the delicate skin.

"As you wish."

She almost wanted to ask if he knew the implications of his words, but didn't get the chance to – for the next moment he withdrew his hand, slightly lifted her leg, then guiding himself with his other hand, he pushed into her.

The feel of him was still overwhelming – her walls strained the best possible way to accommodate him, forcing a breathy moan out of her as she shut her eyes in pleasure.

He kept still for a moment, letting her adjust – then pulled almost completely out, and pushed in once again. The position didn't really let him to go too fast or too hard, but the angle was just perfect. She didn't mind the pace, either – it somehow made their coupling more intense, more intimate.

He moved in a steady pace, softly grunting into ear whenever he pushed in, keeping a hand on her hip, keeping her close, and keeping their movements in tandem, helping her match thrust for thrust. As suddenly as lust had awakened in her, now the fire was as slow to fill her veins, slowly burning her from the inside. She felt as if electricity was running through all of her nerve endings, giving her a little jolt whenever he hit home, finding just the one place inside her that nobody had ever found before.

It was great, but it was driving her mad – she enjoyed the hike, the slow, enchanting journey, but she wanted to be at the peak already, to enjoy the feeling of being on the top of the world. So she reached down, grabbed his wrist, and pulled his hand to her center.

"Make me come," she said in a breathy whisper between his thrusts.

He needed no other incentive; he got to work right away, finding her clit, that sensitive, excited little bundle of nerves, and started rubbing it with his fingertips – slowly, gently at first, as if they were at the foreplay still, and he was trying to get her wet and ready, but then he started going harder and faster, even quickening the movements of his hips.

She was slowly becoming… erratic. There was no better word for it – her fluid movements were turning into forceful jerks, her breathing was coming in sharp, little pants, and she felt like as if her body wanted to curl around itself as the tension grew in her core, her walls tightened around him, and the base of her spine started tingling, the sensation spreading to the tip of her toes and to the top of her head.

And then it just snapped.

She reached the peak, and it was divine. Pleasure erupted in every cell of her body and her spine arched and her toes curled and she all but cried as her walls clamped around him, forcing him to push even harder.

But he didn't stop.

He kept going, with carefully measured thrusts, drawing out her orgasm, until he came, too, his whole body stilling for a moment before he gave her a last couple of jerking thrusts, moaning into her ear as his hand – the one that wasn't still between her legs – fisted in her hair and he spilled his seed into her.

Afterwards, they stilled; they didn't say a word as their hearts slowly calmed down and their breathing evened out. Once her last, sporadic spasms stopped, he gently pulled out of her, but didn't inch away – no, he put his arm around her middle and pulled her close.

It was a like a second awakening as her body came down from the height of her climax. She started noticing new things, things she hadn't paid attention to before – things like, for example, that the early morning sunlight was streaming in through the window, a beam hitting her shoulder, warming her skin. Or that there were birds singing on the trees in front of the hotel. Or that Grant had a musky, earthy scent, that was truly him, nothing artificial added. And that his stubble was tickling her neck, sending little pleasure-shocks through her body.

She sighed contently, burrowing deeper into him – and, to her surprise, he mirrored the move, tightening the arm around her waist and nuzzling his nose against her neck. He let out a little, happy breath. She chuckled.

"So you are into cuddling, too?" she teased, intertwining their fingers.

"I'm not," he protested weakly, taking a deep breath, inhaling her scent in, and skimming his fingertips along the smooth skin of her stomach. "It's just you are good to have close."

"So I'm a good to cuddle." She felt his smile against her neck. "Just admit it – it won't hurt."

"Can't you stay quiet for a minute?"

And she did; for a minute. But then asked, "Do we have to get up?"

"Not yet," he answered, pulling her even closer, as if the mere thought of parting with her made him uncomfortable. "We can stay for a little longer; Coulson is not in hurry to leave unless we get an urgent call."

"Hm… okay," she said with dropping eyelids, then turned around in his arms to face him. She pushed her head under his chin, put her arms around him, and sighed contently. "Then I'm staying in bed a little longer."

"Good call," was his only response as he kissed the top of her head, then ran his fingers through her hair, playing with her locks.

She got a full ten minutes of rest before their phones started ringing (somewhere in their pants pockets on the floor). Apparently, even if she felt like she was in heaven, the world didn't stop turning.


	8. The Curious Case of the Empty Office

**A/N:** A triple feature this time, something based on three prompts: firstly, it is for day five of Skyeward Week, smut/humor; secondly there was a prompt for the Skyeward Smut Challenge I can't find now, but it was along the lines that Skye and Grant have sex in Coulson's office. The third one – I'm not telling you the third one :P That'd kill the joke.

* * *

 **The Curious Case of the Empty Office**

Grant had a bad habit of not asking too many question if Skye asked him of something, even if he had a very good feeling that she was up to something. So when she came to the armory where he was doing inventory, told him she needed his help, then took his hand and led him out of the room, he didn't stop to ask what she needed him for, but simply went.

In hindsight, that might have been a mistake.

Never letting go of his hand, she led him up to Coulson's office, shutting the door as soon as they were inside.

And then she was kissing him, standing on the tip of her toes, sliding her fingers into his short hair, caressing his scalp with her fingertips and running her tongue along his lips, begging for entrance. His first reaction was, of course, to kiss her back – his hands on her waist, pulling her close until their abdomens pressed together, one hand slipping down on the curve of her lower back, into the back pocket of her jeans as he leaned forward, claiming dominance and making her moan.

He only questioned her motives when they came up for air.

"I though… you needed help," he said, a little breathless, eyes focused on her red, kiss-swollen lips.

She smirked.

"I do. I really do," she told him, staring fearlessly into his eyes as she grabbed his shirt just below his navel and slowly started to pull it out from the waist of his pants. "I so need your help – in something only _you_ can help with," she added, licking her lips mischievously as she slipped a hand under his shirt, making him hiss. "Now, can you help me?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Here?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly, her fingers inching downwards on his skin, while she worked a button of his Henley free with her teeth, and put her lips on his collarbone, sucking gently.

"Sure." She nibbled at the delicate skin of his throat. "Don't tell me it doesn't make you… excited?" she dragged out the last word.

He sneaked a quick glance at the door.

"But Coulson…"

"He won't be back for a couple more hours," she said, running her tongue along the column of his neck. "The whole office is ours."

Grant liked to pride himself as a man of excellent self-control. But in that moment, that legendary self-control was nowhere in sight (so okay, he might have found the idea of having sex in Coulson's office… _exciting_.)

After a fraction of a second of self-reflection – admitting to himself that it was a bad idea –, he suddenly grabbed her by the waist and picked her up, crushing her against his body. She wrapped her legs around his waist automatically, laughing, then sealed his lips with hers.

He carried her to Coulson's desk, then, pushing off some papers from the desktop with one hand to make room – he's pick those up later –, he placed Skye on top of it, then, not even breaking momentum, he reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled off of her almost roughly – a gesture she reciprocated, tossing his Henley to the far corner of the room. Then his mouth was on her again, sucking at her neck with wild passion as he held her tights open, rubbing his still denim-clad, growing erection against her core, eliciting that amazing, purring-moaning sound from her he loved so much.

His lips wandered lower, nipping at the top of her breasts, before pushing the cup of her bra down, freeing her and taking her nipple into his mouth.

"Would you laugh at me," he said when he let go of her with a quiet _pop_ , "that I've fantasized about eating you out on Coulson's desk?"

"No," she answered, her voice low, breathy from arousal, "I'd just say that get to work, then." And with that, just to give emphasis to her words, she put a hand on the top of his head, and pushed him down.

He didn't have to be told twice; with some smart maneuvering he managed to divest her of her jeans and panties, then, deciding not to torture her this time, he spread her legs even further and went straight for her core, sucking her clit between his lips and lapping at her ambrosia.

He loved the noises she made while he ate her out – the low moans and the needy, little whines spurred him on, the fingers in his hair, trying to push his head even closer, made him never want to stop. When her moans turned into little cries and her thighs closed around his head he knew she was close, so he slipped two fingers into her, curling them, massaging her walls with his fingertips while focusing on her clit with his lips.

His work soon came to fruition – she fell over the edge the next moment, her back arching, her toes curling, digging into his back, her lips opening in a silent scream, her walls spasming wildly around his fingers.

He took pride in how long it took her to come down from her high.

"Oh my… I love you," she panted, pushing her hair from her face. "And now lose the pants!"

He obliged, smirking to himself (this whole thing seemed like a brilliant idea now). Stepping out of his shoes, he pushed his pants and underwear down, kicking them away only for the show. Then, giving himself a sure-handed pump, he stepped between her legs once again – she looked at him expectantly –, ran his tip along her lips, coating himself in her juices. She put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down to her level, kissing him wildly – and the moment her tongue pushed into his mouth, he pushed into her in one swift, powerful stroke, making her gasp.

He didn't care for setting a slow rhythm, building it up – he pulled out almost right away, then plunged back in, moving his hips in a wild, jerking motion, grasping her thighs and pounding into her with such a force that her breasts bounced and the desk creaked. She felt heavenly, just like she always did, and it was almost enough for him to completely forget about anything else in the world.

But only almost.

This way, he only heard the door open a second too late – too late to react before the stunned shout.

" _What the hell?!_ "

The next couple of seconds were a jumbled mess; he pulled out of Skye so suddenly that he staggered back, almost falling on his ass before he managed to regain his balance. At the same time, Skye let out a short, high cry, partially because being freaked out, partially because Grant managed to pull her with him, causing her to fall off the table. Then it was basically a game of grab-and-hide – Skye was lucky enough, since her shirt somehow had landed by the leg of the table, so she just grabbed it and covered herself with it the best she could. Grant, on the other hand, wasn't in such a good situation – his shirt was in one corner of the room, his pants in another –, so he resolved to moving his gaze frantically around the room, covering himself with hand and looking for some object that offered a better coverage with the other; then when he finally found it, he grabbed it blindly, not caring what it was, and pulled it in front of his junk.

The whole ordeal only lasted a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity; and Coulson just stood there, staring at them dumbfounded the whole time.

Then, when the initial shock wore off, Coulson simply took a one hundred and eighty degree turn, stepped out of the office, and shut the door behind him.

The clock on the wall ticked once.

"I did not see anything," they heard Coulson's slightly muffed voice from the other side of the door. "Now I am going to go down to the galley, have a coffee. Maybe eat something. I will be back in about… twenty minutes. And when I am back, my office will be empty, my desk will be spotless, and everything will be where I left it in the morning. As if nothing has happened." Silence. Two careful steps. Stop. "On a second thought… take that picture with you."

And then he was gone.

It was only then that Skye and Grant – at the exact same time – glanced at what had become the protector of Grant's virtue: it's was Coulson's prized, framed vintage Captain America print, the one he kept on his desk oh-so-proudly.

Skye and Grant's eyes met; her throat flexed and she bit on her lip, an expression Grant was way too familiar with.

"Don't," he warned, but it was too late; the next moment she started laughing hysterically.

And could have he done, really? He joined her.

* * *

"What the bloody hell," Hunter grumbled, leafing through the Playground's code of conduct with a frown on his face. "'Sexual relations must be confined to the personal quarters'? What the hell prompts people to put this kind of stuff down in writing? What bloody idiot comes up with these rules?"

Grant really tried not to look at Hunter. Or at the document in front of him. He so didn't want to discuss this. So instead he took a big gulp of his coffee, and simply said, "Don't ask."

"But," Skye chirped in, plopping down in the chair opposite of Hunter with a sly smile on her face, "you know about that Captain America picture on Coulson's desk? Next time you're in his office, you should compliment the frame. He'd like that."

(Grant really hoped Hunter wouldn't take this advice.)

* * *

 **A/N:** I got the third prompt from TicklishSuperSpy – Brett was in some would-be show's unaired pilot pre-AOS, and one scene has surfaced from that as a gif, showing him in his birthday suit, trying to frantically cover himself, and finally managing it with a framed cat picture. That gif was my prompt, with Coulson walking on Skyeward – but I thought that the Cap pic would work better in this situation :D


	9. Rush

**Rush**

"I don't get why you are in such a rush."

Grant looks at her in the mirror as he does the buttons of his dress shirt, his mouth pulling into a smirk. "You know I have to take care of this."

"Well, I think you should take care of me first," Skye says, her voice light, teasing, intended to get a rouse out of him. His smile widens as he gazes at her–lying on the bed sideways, her mess of tangled locks fanned out on the white sheets as she bites her lower lip and fondles her bare breasts, the nipples pinched between her fingers, rolling the hardened nubs, as she draws her legs up, clenching her thighs together to create some friction. She is the eponym of everything that's seductive on this earth. She's completely naked–it's not that she's shed her clothes for his benefit; she just didn't bother putting them on after last night.

They are on this mission together–his job is to strike up an _acquaintance_ with the target, gain his trust, get an invitation out of him to the private auction selling Chitauri tech, the one S.H.I.E.L.D. just can't get the location of otherwise. The lion's share of the job is his–it's a men's world, after all, or so the target thinks–, while she's his back up, his extra pair of eyes, and source of distraction, if needed. Phase one of the mission is already a success–he made contact the previous night, rolling dice in the Monte Carlo casino, with his personal Fortuna in his lap, whispering into his ear. And now he is ready for phase two: breakfast with that target, during which he hopes to obtain the invitation they came for. He reckons it'll be a piece of cake–the guy is as clueless as they come, and a bit of flattery and a bit of comradery ( _bromancing_ , Skye'd call it) will do the trick, he's sure.

"You know I want to," he says ( _oh, how he wants to–he can never have enough of her_ ), "but I can't. Not now." He walks over to the bed, slipping on his sport coat. "But…" he draws out, running a finger along her arm before he leans in, "…I'll be back in hour. Wait for me," he asks, then kisses her. It could be awkward, kissing her upside-down as she lies on the bed, but it's not; she curls her arms around his neck right away, and opens her mouth, inviting his tongue in, deepening the kiss, sending shockwaves of pleasure into his very core. When he pulls away, he's pulling her too, at first, her upper body rising from the mattress as she refuses to let go. She lets out a huff when he pries her hands away and she falls back. "One hour," he promises before walking to the door. "And then… we'll do whatever you want."

She pouts. "It better not be longer than that," she says, rolling to her side and looking at him, her chin resting in her hand. "Because then I'm starting without you," she warns with a smile.

His hand on the doorknob, he turns back to her for a moment. "I'll hurry back to you." And with that, he's gone.

* * *

When he gets back, a _little_ bit over an hour later, he is high on the success of the mission–it _was_ a piece of cake, the guy singing like a little birdie after Grant told him an anecdote or two, and expressed how _interested_ he is in alien tech. And this buzz in his veins is the very same he's felt countless of times before, the one that has had him lift Skye and press her against the wall, or bend her over the armrest of the couch, and then fuck her into oblivion.

He needs her. _Now._

Skye is, for once, exactly where he left her–sprawled out on the bed, sideways, her feet dangling off from the side, fast asleep. If it's not for the tray on the table and the hotel robe thrown haphazardly over the back of the nearby armchair, he'd think she didn't even move from her spot ever since he left.

He stands by the foot of the bed for a moment, just gazing at her–she is a sight to behold, every inch of her; the sun-kissed skin and the lithe limbs, the round breasts and tantalizing hips, the dark, mysterious eyes and the lustful mouth. He is so lucky to be chosen by her.

He starts undressing then, before he'd wake her–why make her bother with taking off his clothes, if she is already so deliciously naked? So he slips off his coat and shirt, gets rid of the shoes and pants, until he is standing there bare like the day he was born, his member already half-hard–the mere sight of her, and the knowledge of what to come is enough to make his blood rush south.

It is only then that he climbs over her, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. One leg between her slightly parted thighs, he leans over her, a smirk on his face, and presses the first, hot, open-mouthed kiss on her stomach, just above her pubic bone. He moves upward from there, kissing along the planes of her abdomen, one hand resting just above the juncture of her thigh. She wakes around the fourth or fifth kiss–she lets out a content moan and slides her fingers into his hair, pushing his head down.

"Hm… you're late," she mewls as he takes a nipple into his mouth. Of course she starts with the reprimand. "How did it go?" Her voice hitches at the end of the sentence as he gives her nipple a hard tug.

"Like a dream," he answers, letting her breast go with a _pop_ as his hand sneaks down between her legs. "Now…" He parts her outer folds "…what should I do to make up for my tardiness?"

She moans, loudly, as he slides two fingers into her core, curling them slightly, then she puts both of her hands on the top of his head, pushing him downward. "Down, boy. Get to work," is all she says.

So down he goes.

Letting her guide him down, he settles between her legs–the sweetest place in the world–, hikes one of her thighs on his shoulder, then he gets down to work–as she asked–, his mouth on her. There's no preamble; he licks and sucks and teases with vengeance, letting her feel the passion, the overwhelming need coursing through his veins, driving her towards the climax with a burning urgency.

He wants– _needs_ –to see her unravel.

His wish is soon fulfilled; it doesn't take him long to get her thrash around–he has to hold her down–, her hands in his hair, her spine arching as she screams his name (she's loud; a part, a really small part of his brain wonders if somebody will hear–he almost wants somebody to hear; to come here and see what he can do to her, how he can make her go _wild_ ). Then her whole body goes rigid, her thighs locking around his head as she comes, hard and fast and suddenly, with a silent scream, her voice stolen by the strength of her orgasm, as he keeps going, working on her with fervor, her core pulsing under his tongue.

When it's over and he raises his head from between her thighs, her body goes limp, relaxed under his hands, her short, panting breaths slowly evening out, her eyes fluttering closed–she always does this, she just needs a little time after a powerful climax to come back down, to rest, to collect herself. If he'd let her, she would likely fall asleep again, slowly drift off, lulled to sleep by the sated buzz in her veins.

Only he won't let her–he is not done with her yet.

He sits on his knees and slips his hands under her waist, then, with a quick, practiced move, he yanks her up, crushing her body against his, her legs on either side of hips, straddling him, his erect member trapped between their abdomens. One hand on the back of her head, he guides her face to his and kisses her–his mouth almost savage against hers, letting her taste her own juices, he forces her lips open, demanding entrance, while his other hand grips her hip.

He can feel the sluggish sleepiness leaving her body right away–their passions matched, she responds to his fire with fire, one hand on his head, the other on his back, her fingers digging into his flesh at his shoulder blade painfully-pleasantly, and she grinds against him, seeking friction, as he feels her grin against his mouth.

"So it really went well," she teases–she knows his tells–, her lips moving to his neck, to the point she knows drives him wild. "Really, _really_ well." She bites into the flesh where his neck and shoulder meet, making his breath hitch.

"It was almost embarrassingly easy," he tells her, turning her head backwards, so he can gain access to her neck as well, while he lifts a hand to her breast, playing with that tantalizing mound. "He told me everything, I barely had to _ask_ ," he tells her between kisses pressed against the column of her throat. "I almost felt bad for him."

Her laugh is cut short when he sucks on her pulse point. "And?" she breaths.

"Business goes down in two day, in Athens. We report to HQ." He gives her nipple a hard pinch. "And then proceed with the plan." He grabs into her ass. "But first…"

Without giving her a warning, he lifts her suddenly–making her squeal–, and reaches between their bodies, grabs his dick and positions it at her entrance, so she sinks into him as he lets her back down.

No matter how many times they do this, it never ceases to take his breath away. The moment he pushes into her–when her warmth surrounds him–, the universe shrinks to the point where they are connected, and nothing else matters.

He barely waits to let her adjust; he starts moving almost right away, going fast, pistoning into her with hard, practices thrusts. It's not their slow and sweet lovemaking, the kind reserved for lazy mornings; it's wild and almost brutal, it's fueled by raw need and passion. He is hitting all the sweet spots inside of her, he is sure–she picks up the rhythm right away, matching thrust for thrust, clinging into his shoulder (if she'll claw his skin bloody, he doesn't care; he'll bear her marks with pride).

It doesn't last long; soon, he is feeling the tell-tale tingling in the base of his spine, the tightening in his balls–he is close, so close it's almost painful. But he refuses to come without her.

She can't be that far, either–she was still coming down from her high when he pushed into her, and now her thighs are tight around his hips, and her spine is arched, her head thrown back, exposing her neck to him. So he reaches down between their bodies and seeks out her clit, and starts rubbing it with his thumb, just the way he knows she likes it. Her breathing goes even more erratic right away, her moans becoming louder, her grip on his shoulders stronger, her nails close to breaking his skin. So he leans closer to her, puts his mouth on the spot on her neck that makes her lose control, then breaths into her ear, "Come for me, babe."

He is so grateful for the fact that she is getting better and better at obeying commands. The next moment her whole body seizes up, her voice gets caught in her throat, and her core, warm and wet and delicious, starts spasming around his cock, trapping him one moment, as if she never wants to let him go, then trying force him out the next. Her climax triggering his own, he lets out a low, guttural groan, spilling himself deep into her in hot spurts, while his mind goes blissfully blank, nothing existing in the world, just him and her.

Afterwards, he gently lays her down on the bed and settles beside her, so they can catch their breaths. She turns to him almost right away, throwing a leg over his thigh and resting her head on his chest, so he knows she can hear his heartbeat. For a while, neither of them speaks; he just takes a lock of her hair between his fingers, playing with it, while she draws nonsensical patterns into the skin of his abdomen with the tip of her finger.

"So…" she says after a while in that slow, husky voice of hers that he associates with the afterglow of great sex, "Athens?"

He nods. "In two days. We'll have to be there, of course, but it'll be more like a team effort."

She lets out a small, agreeing hum at that.

"But we are not in a hurry, right?" she asks, her hand sliding lower. "I mean, it's in two days. There's no sense in going back to the base. We could wait for the team here… or in Athens…" He understands completely what she is implying the moment her fingers curl around his member. Grabbing her waist, he pulls her on top of him.

"Of course," he says, then kisses her. "After all, I told you–we'll do whatever you want."


	10. Explosion

**A/N:** I promised some smut to Littleangrykitten18 and MariaVC, so here it is :D Also, this is the direct continuation of _Baby Steps_ (chapter 119 of _A Picture Worth a Thousand Words_ ).

* * *

 **Explosion**

It's almost strange how easily they click together after that non-date where he pulled the chair for her, and ordered for her, and told her funny stories as if they had just met (but then again, they've always had a _spark_ ).

They go out twice more the following week, without making a fuss about it, once to the movies, once to another restaurant (she picks this time)–he holds her hand through the movie, and she gives him a kiss after dinner (he tastes exactly like _before_ ). Still, almost by a silent agreement, they are taking things slow–she doesn't rush, he doesn't push; they are not labelling what's between them, simply enjoy each other's company, curious to see where it'll take them.

Still, this… _thing_ between them is not new, and his closeness, the chaste touches he allows himself, and the hopeful smiles he gives her rekindle the old passions still living inside of her, making them simmer in her veins. More and more often she finds her mind straying from the present, revisiting the fantasies of an era long passed, when after a tiring day she went to bed thinking about how his hand fit into the curve of her waist as he corrected her stance, and how his lips would have felt on the skin of her neck if only he had leaned forward a bit.

It's a ticking time bomb, an inch from going off.

And as it always is, the explosion is inevitable.

* * *

It's Wednesday night, and it feels like a dream or a miracle. They, the team–those from the Bus and her new people–are gathered on the common room couches, drinking beer, sharing stories, teasing and laughing. And Grant's there, sitting on her right, a bottle of beer in his right hand, while his left casually rests on her knee. But he's not simply there–he _belongs_ there. There are no sideways glances or hurtful comments, and nobody gets up and leaves because he's there, and that stabbing feeling, the pain of betrayal–it's simply gone.

She's more grateful for it than she's ever thought she would be.

The weak start to weed themselves out around eleven, retreating to their rooms, with the excuse of an early morning tomorrow. By ten to midnight, it's just Joey and the two of them, she and Grant, sitting noticeably closer to each other than when the evening started.

She is telling Joey about the time when she was learning how to shoot, nudging Grant's side with her elbow periodically, asking for confirmation, or simply just for his perspective of the story (because it's _their story_ , and it would be unfair and simply _wrong_ to tell it without him), and Grant gives it, teasing her back, pulling her metaphorical pigtails with a smile on his face. All the while, Joey just watches them, nodding along with a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth, but when they are done, he gives them a theatrical yawn.

"It's getting late," Joey says, stretching his arms above his head for emphasis. "I'd better" he points awkwardly towards the corridor leading to the living quarters "go to bed. G'night, guys." He stands up in haste, almost tripping in his own foot. "See you in the morning!" And with that he leaves, barely hearing Grant and Skye's goodbyes, although Skye is half-certain she saw the other Inhuman _wink_ at them.

Not that it really matters.

What really matters is that she is now alone with Grant Ward in the semi-dark common room, and suddenly every single cell in her body is hyperaware of this fact. She is so close to him–she hasn't even realized this until now–that she can basically feel his every inhalation, his every heartbeat; the warmth radiating from his body makes her shiver, and his gaze, which now rests on her, feels as if penetrating her very soul.

"So," he starts, then clears his throat, his eyes never straying from her face. "It is late."

"It is," she agrees.

"Do you wanna…?" he nods towards the corridor.

She shakes her head. "No." She turns towards him, putting a foot on the cushions, her knee pushing into his side. "I'm not tired yet. And it's nice here," she says with a small smile.

"Very nice, indeed," he replies, turning towards her as well, making their limbs almost tangle.

She reaches out, involuntarily, instinctively, and draws her fingertip along his forearm, from his wrist to the creek of his elbow.

It's not just that they are together; it's more that this is the first time ever since… everything happened when they are _alone together_ , really alone, with a relatively small chance of anybody bothering them. Every other time when they went out, there were people around them, and when they got back to the base, there were also always people within earshot, people who _watched_. But now it's just the empty common room and them, with everybody else safely tucked away in bed. It's exhilarating and frightening at the same time–suddenly, she feels like she is back in Freshman year, paired in a class with the boys she likes. There's excitement crawling under her skin, but she's almost too afraid to move.

There's silence, then; neither of them speaks. She looks into his eyes, and despite the poor lighting, tries to count all the colors she sees in his irises–honey, amber, whiskey… She is almost too lost in them to notice him taking her hand. Her gaze flickering downwards, she sees him turn her hand around, and trace the faint line of veins along the tender skin of her wrist.

 _(Tick, tock, tick, tock…)_

"I…" he starts, then trails off, in loss of words. She can relate. "I think I just want to say thank you. For giving me a second chance." He looks up at her, smiling. "For saying yes."

She chuckles, shrugging. "Yeah, you know," she says as she pulls her hand from him. (His hand now rests on her thigh, just a little bit above than what's necessarily decent.) "You are hard to say no to. You have one of those puppy dog faces." She hasn't even realized it before, but in the last minute or so they have been gravitating towards each other–now there are only a couple of inches between their faces. "And that restaurant you first took me to was pretty spectacular too."

He exhales. " _You_ are spectacular," he says, with painful sincerity, looking into her eyes.

It's lame and cheesy and terrible, but she just couldn't care less. This is it–the last brick of the wall of her self-constraint crumbles.

The next moment her hands are on his face, and her lips are on his mouth. There's nothing sweet or chaste or gentle about this kiss–she is almost aggressive in her passion, trying to get closer to him than possible, trying to make up for the lost time (it's almost like back in Providence, almost as if two years haven't even passed, as if only a blink separated the two events). He seems to freeze for a moment at first, his lips rigid under hers, but then he breaks free from it, a hand tangling in her hair, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip. There's a faintest tug on her thigh, and she complies right away, straddling him, their chests pressed together.

(See? _Explosion_.)

He's frenzied now, touching and wanting and exploring, hands everywhere, lips demanding, as if he wanted to melt their bodies together, and she is right there with him, matching passion to passion, desire to desire. And yet, throughout their breathless kissing, and despite his hardening member she can clearly feel under her, he never crosses that certain line (the very one she really wants to cross _now_ ). That unsaid barrier still lingers between them, keeping him from moving forward.

"Wait," he stops suddenly, pulling away, as if woken from a trance, almost like a child caught doing mischief. "We–"

"No," she cuts him off, kissing him again, sliding her tongue into his mouth. "No," she repeats, peppering kisses down his jawline. "I want you, I want you, please," she chants, nuzzling her face against his neck, her hands sneaking under his T-shirt, nails grazing the smooth skin stretched over ridged muscles. " _Please_."

He doesn't ask if she is sure. He doesn't try to reason with her. Tell her it's a mistake. Push her off. No, he knows better than that–it's enough to look at her face for him to know that she means it, that she _wants him_ , right then and there. He knows, with startling clarity, that this is what they both _need_ , what should have happened between them _ages ago_ (but it hasn't yet, not until this moment, because the universe is cruel).

And so the next moment his mouth is back on hers, and his hands are gripping the hem of her shirt, tugging it upward. She helps him getting rid of it, breaking the kiss for a moment to pull it off and toss it away, and as soon as it's gone, they reach for the clasp of her bra at the same time, and their shared eagerness would even be comical if they had any capacity for comedy left.

Her bra is barely gone–her breasts free for him to see and do whatever he pleases–when he grabs her waist (his hands are unnaturally warm on her skin), lifts her from his lap, and lays her down on the couch, her head resting on the armrest. Before she could blink, he is already crawling above her, his upper body supported by his arms, his hips cradled between her legs. And then he is kissing her again, her mouth, her neck, her collarbone, leaving her breathless and her skin tingling. Yet he still feels tentative as he puts his hand on her breast, and she has to guide him, show him that's it okay, that this exactly what she wants; it seems to give him the confidence he needs, because the next moment his lips fasten on her nipple, and he sucks it _hard_ , making her gasp and her hips shoot up, seeking friction.

It feels good, it feels _great_ , but he is still completely dressed, and it should be a _crime_ , so she tugs at his shirt, trying to get it off, and he complies right away, pulling it through his head. He's in such a rush, she can hear the fabric rip, not that she cares about it a bit–all she cares about is that suddenly they are skin-to-skin, and he's warm and heavenly and she can't get enough of him. And then he's moving down her body, lips leaving a searing trail on her skin, her collar bone, between her breasts, and down her abdomen, and then he's at the waistline of her jeans, popping the button open. He divests her of her jeans and panties with great skill, barely hindered by her shoes, which soon hit the floor, too.

He pulls away for a bit then, looking down at her, his gaze sliding along the lines of her body (she's flushed and tousled and ready and dripping and aching and _all his_ ). There's marvel in his eyes as he watches her, almost as if he had trouble believing that this is not a dream, and she just lies there, watching him in return, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, waiting for him to move.

And then he's diving in again, hungry lips seeking hers. "You're… sublime," he breathes against her neck, hands in her hair, pulling her heads backwards.

A soft moan breaks free from her throat, and her hands slid down his back, fingertips slipping beneath the waistline of his pants. She wants to be witty and flirty and make him smile as she tells him to _hurry up,_ but all she manages is a breathless "Please…"

Still, he understands her perfectly.

The next moment he's pulling away again, standing up from the couch, and then she's watching him as he quickly kicks off his shoes and pushes down his pants and boxers in one fluid motion, his erection springing up proudly. She licks her lips in anticipation as he climbs back between her legs, their gazes locked. He's careful not to put too much of his weight on her, but at the same time she can feel his need to touch as much skin as he can, draping himself over her as her arms loop around his neck and her legs wrap around his waist.

He's kissing her with fervor once again, his hot tongue exploring her mouth, while his hips move rhythmically against hers, teasing, but never satisfying. She's just about to say something, because this is maddening, and she can't take it anymore, she needs _more_ , when suddenly he stills and breaks the kiss.

"I should…" he says, panting, looking down at her, reluctance clearly written on his features. "I should go and…"

She gets it halfway through the sentence–and no, she doesn't want to let him go, doesn't want to part from him, even for a short while–, and silences him by pulling his back down and kissing him.

"It's okay," she tells him, noses touching. "I got it covered."

"You sure?" he asks for confirmation, their breaths mingling.

She doesn't answer him with words, but reaches between their bodies and wraps her fingers around him (he's thick and hot and throbbing and fits perfectly in her palm), and then looks into his eyes, and it's been decided.

The next moment his fingers are curling around her own, and he's guiding himself into her.

She sighs as he slides in–she's wet and ready to combust, and he stretches and fills her in the most delicious way. He fits her perfectly, almost as if they were two pieces of a puzzle, designed to click together. (She briefly thinks about how it _should have happened a lot sooner_ , but doesn't let her thoughts stray to such a dark place.)

He stills when he's all the way in; he exhales, presses a kiss against her forehead, then waits for a moment, letting her adjust, before he starts moving.

She half expects him to be rough and wild, to fuck her into oblivion, but instead he sets a steady, unhurried rhythm, reaching in deep before pulling out and then pushing back in. He supports himself on his arms, her hand gripping his biceps, grounding herself, as he kisses her languidly throughout his thrusts.

There's a quiet intensity in the way he makes love to her, just like there's one about him, and it almost feels like a religious worship, like some old, pagan rite (and she realizes with a start–it might be what it is exactly to him, like laying with a goddess).

They are not in a hurry–they are not chasing a quick culmination–, and her pleasure climbs slowly, buzzing in her veins and under skin, making her moan softly and grip his arm as he sighs her name and murmurs sweets words into her ear, words she doesn't even hear but loves nonetheless.

He is slowly picking up pace, his thrusts becoming more punctuated, while she tightens around him, her nails biting into his skin, urging him on, as he sucks on her neck, leaving marks (it's okay; she's his now, anyway), and yet, their orgasms still take her almost by surprise.

He comes first, giving her a couple of last, frenzied pumps before he stills and, back arched, empties himself into her in hot spurts, her name tearing free from the depth of his throat. It's his warm seed, spreading inside her, that triggers her own climax, making her shiver and tremble and moan as her walls spasm around him, trapping him inside her body, milking him, demanding every last drop he is able to give. And for the shortest of time, the world outside really ceases to exists, and the universe consists only of them and their shared pleasure, their bodies–skin and flesh and bones and thoughts and feelings–melting together.

After, when even his last vestige of strength leaves him, he collapses on top of her, his head pillowed on her rapidly falling and rising chest as she is trying to catch her breath. Once she is aware of who and where she is once again, she slides her fingers into his hair, caressing his scalp and pushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. They stay like that for a little while, trying to reassemble themselves, even though she knows things will never be the same as they were before ( _the bomb has been detonated_ ).

Not that she minds it the slightest.

A couple of minutes pass, and her body and mind slowly calm down, retreating to the present. The air of the room feels cool on her fevered, sweaty skin, which is juxtaposed by the warm weight of him on top of her. She closes her eyes, trying to etch every little detail into her mind, so she'll be able to recall this exact moment, this exact feeling–his scent, his head on her breasts, his breath tickling her skin, the cushions under her back, his body between her legs, their mixed juices seeping out of her–, whenever she wants to.

Only when it's done does she start to realize more mundane things as well.

"We," she chuckles suddenly, "totally ruined this couch. In every sense of the word. I'll never be able to look at it again. Or look into anyone's eyes who sits on it."

She feels his smile against her skin.

"Would you be mad if I said I'm kind of happy about it?"

"Very, very mad," she laughs. "Almost inconsolably so."

"In that case," he rises from her, "I'd better thoroughly apologize." He kisses her.

"Yes. At length." She agrees, sliding from under him and standing up. She takes his hand, and, not caring about their clothes littering the floor, starts leading him towards the living quarters. "Come. You'd better start apologizing right away."


	11. Indecent Proposal

**A/N:** I've been owing this to Rikusprincess30 for an embarrassingly long time. I'm sorry! I hope the story will make the waiting worth it.

* * *

 **Indecent Proposal**

She's on him, lips on lips, backing him towards the bed the moment the door closes behind them.

It was a long day, filled with excitement and action and thrills that left her blood buzzing with adrenalin, and her body with the urge to do something with the excess energy–something more pleasurable than dodging bullets. But of course the mission was followed by seemingly endless briefings that, in theory, should have served to put out this need, but instead only made her crave him more.

So now she is not willing to wait a second more.

Using his momentary surprise to her advantage, she pushes him onto the bed, making the pillows bounce as his head connects with the mattress.

(She has no misconceptions–she is very well aware of the fact that he only goes down because he wants to go down.)

( _Oh_ , how much she wants him to go _down._ )

He sits up right away, but by then she's already pulled her shirt over her head, tossing the annoying garment to the far corner of the room, and then she is climbing into his lap, straddling his waist and pushing her breasts against his chest, her hands on his face, her lips desperately seeking his as her hips grind down against his groin.

It doesn't take him a moment to prove that he needs her just as much as she needs him–his hands seem to be everywhere, on her ass, her thighs, her waist, before sliding up to her head; he pulls the band from her ponytail, letting the locks fall free down her back before grabbing her hair almost roughly. He pulls her head back and to the side, so he can get access to her throat, which he attacks with vengeance. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses against her neck, sucking at the tender skin, from the line of her jaw, down, down to her collarbone and back, leaving her panting and drawing a cry a from her lips when he bites down where her neck and shoulder meet. (She's wet and aching and _wants him_.)

"I love you, I love you," she hears him murmur against her shoulder, but all she can answer this is an enthusiastic "Yes, yes," as tries to twist her arm behind her back to unclasp her bra. He notices what she's trying to do and lets go of her hair; the next moment she feels his hand at the center of her back, and then, with a twist of his fingers, her clasp is undone, the bra falling to the ground, her breasts bared to him. Not wasting a second, he leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth–she screams–while he massages the other breast.

"You're a goddess," he keeps talking between the kisses he trails upwards from her chest back to her neck. "Sublime. Ethereal. Divine." Any other time she'd be touched by his poetics, but right now she can barely focus on anything but the hardness undermeath her, and how much she wants him–hard and hot and throbbing–deep inside of her. Him marking her. Making her see stars. "Marry me."

She almost misses it–it takes her a moment to realize what he's just said, but when she does, she pulls away slightly and, her arms resting on his shoulders, she looks into his eyes.

"What?"

She can see it on his face that he has no idea what's just slipped out of his mouth, and that its significance is just dawning upon him: his eyes are wide, his pupils blown, his mouth slightly open, amazed and uncomprehending. But then he smiles. He takes her face into his hands and kisses her again, deeply, his tongue tasting hers.

"Marry me," he says again when he breaks the kiss, with much more conviction this time, looking straight into her eyes.

"What?" she repeats, astonishment in her voice as her lips, without her consent, curl into a smile.

"You heard me," he answers, then, with one swift movement, he turns them around, so now it's her lying on the mattress on her back, completely at his mercy as he towers over her. "Marry me."

"You can't be serious." This time she laughs as he kisses along her neck and down her sternum.

"But I'm." He sucks a nipple into his mouth, making her arch her back and push his head closer. "Marry me." He licks down her abdomen, dipping the tip of his tongue into her belly button. "Marry me." He pops the button of her pants open and pulls them down her legs along with her underwear. "Marry me."

"What, no ring?" she laughs, pushing herself to her elbows to watch him quickly pull his Henley over his head and push his pants down. She licks her lips as she sees his erection spring free proudly.

"You'll get a ring," he promises, climbing back onto the bed. He takes her right ankle and lifts her leg, pressing a kiss at first against her knee, then an inch higher, then another inch higher… "Whatever ring you want." He puts his mouth on her, teasing her clit with the tip of his tongue, and, for a moment, she completely forgets what they are talking about.

"I'll make an honest woman out of you," he continues when he sits up. He lifts her leg even higher, placing it on his shoulder. "And you'll look so beautiful in white." He takes his hard member into his hand and guides it to her core, sliding it along her slit, coating himself in her juices and teasing her at the same time. "So lovely."

"I haven't said yes yet," she manages to say just before he pushes into her with one single, forceful thrust, filling her up and stretching her deliciously. She loses her voice for a moment.

"And I haven't finished proposing yet," he goes on, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in, making her breath hitch. "I love you." He keeps moving, in and out, setting a steady rhythm. "Now and forever." In and out. "And there's nothing more," in and out. In and out, "I want," he hitches her leg higher, keeping her hips firmly in place, "than to spend the rest of my life with you." He gives her a punctuated thrust and she moans. "So marry me."

She doesn't answer–she can't, because then he picks up the pace, pounding into her with an almost bruising force, making her walls tighten around him, and then his hand is between her legs, rubbing her clit, making her lose her mind and shout his name, and the world around them ceases to exist, and his lips are on her neck, and he is saying something against her skin, but she can't hear it, she can only feel the vibrations of his voice, and he's thrusting into her even faster now, hitting all the right places, and she just can't take it anymore, and it's like electricity is running in her veins, and her nails draw angry, red lines into his back as she's trying to hold on, but she's falling apart, and then he stills for a moment, then gives one, two, three punctuated thrust while something warm erupts inside of her as he empties his seed into her, and that's it–she comes hard, with a silent scream, her back arching, and her walls spasming rhythmically around him, never wanting to let him go.

She needs a little time to come back to herself afterwards. She's vaguely aware of him collapsing next to her and pulling her to his chest, but really, the only thing her mind registers for a while is the sated buzz in her limbs, and his warm, wonderful body under hers. Everything else… everything else has to wait until she can think again.

"So," he says after a little while, caressing her hair, "you never answered my question." She doesn't have to see his face to know that he's smirking.

She gives him a dramatic sigh, never rising her head from his chest. "Well, you make a convincing argument."

She can feel him hold his breath for a moment. "So?"

She smiles and pushes herself so she can look into his eyes. She doesn't answer right away, just watches him, etching every line of his face into her memory, and enjoying tormenting him a little.

"So yes," she says at last. "I'll marry you."


	12. Morning Workout

**Morning Workout**

Skye wakes to her human-shaped and Grant-scented pillow slowly and carefully, but very noticeably, inching out from under her head.

"No…" she mumbles, still mostly asleep, grabbing after it blindly.

A warm hand catches her wrist, then there's a kiss on her forehead, as if it could placate her. "Skye," Grant says softly, still trying to navigate his body from under hers. "Go back to sleep. I have to go."

"No," she repeats with the petulance of a small child.

"I promised…" he stops mid-sentence with a sigh as she wounds her arms around his neck from behind. "I promised Trip I'd train with him this morning."

"I don't care," she says, holding him tighter. She throws a leg over his waist, while one arm sneaks under his arm, so her palm is resting on his chest. With her face pressed against the base of his neck, she's clinging to him like a baby monkey to its mother, but she couldn't care less. "It's too early. Stay."

"Skye…" he starts, but his sentence is cut short as she presses a kiss against the column of his throat. She sucks lightly on the sensitive skin, then moves a little higher–she's awake, and on a mission now–, until she reaches the spot, just behind his ear, she knows can bring him to his knees. She flicks her tongue against it, and then feels him _tremble_.

He's quiet for a moment, just letting out a low, appreciative rumble from deep within his chest.

"You're not playing fair," he complaints, but she knows he's not sorry about it the least.

She smirks against his neck as she slides her hand downwards, caressing his chest. "All's fair in love and war…" She nips at his neck for good measure (and because she knows it drives him mad).

She doesn't know how he does it, but suddenly he moves, and the next moment she's on her back, her wrists secured above her head, and he's on top of her, his hips forcing her legs apart. She curls them around his waist, anchoring him to her.

"You're a minx," he says, claiming her lips and sliding his tongue into her mouth. "A terrible, insufferable, irresistible, amazing minx."

"That almost sounds like a complaint," she teases as she sees his gaze wander to her breasts, bared to him, her nipples hardened to pebbles.

"Not at all," he lowers his head, so his nose skims along her sternum. "It's the highest praise."

She chuckles, then whimpers as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, and sucks on it, hard.

"I thought…" She moans. "I thought that Trip— _ah_!" She breaks off when he rolls his hips against her center, letting her feel how hard he already is.

"He can wait," he says, then hikes her right leg higher on his waist, opening her wider. "First things first."

He reaches down between their bodies, and, taking himself into his hand, he guides his cock into her. He slides in with one fluid motion, and she's warm and ready and wanting, but it's still almost too much–in the best possible way–, the way he stretches and fills her.

He doesn't give her much time to adjust, but starts moving right away, setting an unhurried, but forceful rhythm, each thrust rocking her core and hitting her in all the right places. She wriggles her hands, signaling him that she wants to be let free, and he releases her wrists right away. Her arms now free, she wounds them around his neck, anchoring herself to him. She meets thrust for thrust, rolling her hips to the ever increasing pace he sets, taking him as deep as she can. Pleasure slowly flooding every single cell of her body, she closes her eyes and bits into her lower lip, trying to muffle her moans.

"Look at me," she hears him saying as he takes her face into his hand, never missing a beat. She opens her eyes and their gazes lock; there're flames in his orbs. He kisses her, rough and wild, pounding into her even faster. "I want to hear you," he says, giving her a punctuated thrust that makes her cry out. "Tell me what you want."

"God!" it tumbles from her lips. "Harder!"

She throws her head back as he complies, making the bed rock and her feel as if her body was on fire. She's whimpering and moaning and crying out with abandon now, her whole body tingling, sweat breaking on her skin as her world shrinks to the point where their bodies are connected.

"That's it, baby," he says, his voice strained, as he reaches down between them, seeking out her clit and giving it a firm rub, making her core clench around him. "Come for me."

Two more thrusts, and she does, with his name on her lips, her body locking up and her walls throbbing around him, wanting to melt him into her. Lights burst behind her eyelids and electricity cracks in her veins as her pleasure mounts even higher, making her forget for a moment that anything beside him and her exists.

She's vaguely aware of him coming too–spilling his warm seed deep into her–, and then he's collapsing next her, drawing her head onto his rapidly falling and rising chest. She closes her eyes and spreads her fingers on his warm, damp skin, inhaling his scent in.

"I don't know about you," she says after a while, her voice sounding hoarse, "but I prefer this kind of workout to what goes on in the gym."

She feels his chest rock under her cheek as he chuckles.

"Yes, this is definitely a great way to warm up."

It takes a moment for his words to sink, but when they do, she raises her head and looks at him. "Warm up?"

"Yeah," he answers, then draws her face to his so he could kiss her. "Trip's still waiting for me. And since you're up now too…" he goes on, slowly getting up and pulling her with him.

"Now that's just simply cruel," she grumbles, but lets him lead her towards the bathroom.

"Life's cruel," he says, pushing her under the shower head and slipping his arms around her middle. "But I'll make it up to you."


End file.
